All I Want to Hear
by KellanCougar
Summary: A voice can change everything; it can consume your waking hours and weave its way into your dreams. In the end, what happens when it's all you want to hear? Carlisle/Edward Rated M for slash, AH, AU
1. Chapter 1

This is a little something new with my favourite boys. For those of you waiting for the next chapter of Learning to Fly, fear not - it's almost done! This plot bunny hit and had to be written. I'd love to know what you think - it's a little different to my other work.

Thanks to my pre reader Jasper1863Hale, and my beta mxpi1970.

All characters owned and created by Stephenie Meyer. The plot is all mine.

_SUMMARY: A voice can change everything; it can consume your waking hours and weave its way into your dreams. In the end, what happens when it's all you want to hear? _

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><p><strong>All I Want to Hear<strong>

Checking the instructions in the letter, he calls the hotel to confirm the booking. When the voice answers, he is not at all prepared for the unfamiliar reaction.

"Dragonfly Inn. How may I help you today?"

The voice is deep; the honeyed tones making him momentarily forget his reason for calling.

Finding his voice, he speaks, sounding somewhat flustered to his own ears.

"Um, yes; I'm calling to confirm a booking for the 27th made for me by Hale Publishing. I have a lecture to present."

Why was he telling the man this? It was doubtless of no concern to him whatsoever.

"The booking is for just the one night, sir?"

Again the beautiful intonation, seductive enough in its cadence to send a bolt of something thought long forgotten through his chest.

"Y-yes that's correct. A single room for one night."

"According to instructions, we have a double booked for you, sir. Is that acceptable?"

The inflexion of the softly spoken question, the tone almost intimate, affects him quite profoundly. His breath catches as he struggles to reply in the appropriate manner.

"A double will be fine. Does the booking include breakfast?"

"Yes, sir. You can take breakfast in our restaurant or in your room if you prefer. If that's everything, I just need your name to complete the booking."

"Of course; it's Cullen. Carlisle Cullen."

~o.O.o~

His flight from New York to Maine is blessedly short. Uncomfortable away from his home after so long, he checks his briefcase repeatedly to ensure his lecture materials and script are safe. He only has carry-on luggage for the overnight stay, but has packed more than needed in case of emergency. He fears being caught unprepared.

How long has it been since he last left New York? He cannot remember. These days he finds it a trial to do more than the grocery shopping, having become an almost reclusive figure as his writing consumes more and more of his life. He keeps himself well dressed, a habit learned from his college days; his hair is neatly cut, still a glossy blond. To the outside world, Carlisle Cullen is the image of a successful man at the top of his game. There is no one person close enough to see the lonely man, so detached from the world that his only link is through his writing.

Leaving the airport, he hails a cab to the Dragonfly Inn. His conversation with the driver is limited to destination and 'keep the change'. The prospect of any further interaction unnerves him and he wonders how he will cope with the lecture.

Arriving at the inn, he makes his way to reception, eager to check in and close the door. He wonders if the man he spoke with is there today, and what he would do if he were.

The truth is, he knows the answer is nothing.

A pretty, petite young woman smiles at him across the desk and asks for his details. He confirms his name and she asks him to sign in, handing him the electronic door key for room 13 on the second floor. He offers thanks with a small, embarrassed smile, and heads to the stairs the girl has indicated.

The electronic door key is annoying and takes a moment to figure out. When the light finally turns green, he lets himself in and looks around. The room is larger than expected and beautifully furnished; there is a lot of polished wood in keeping with the style of the inn, and a large sleigh bed that dominates the space. It is a warm, inviting place and Carlisle is surprised at how safe he feels here. The feeling is somewhat unexpected.

With nothing to unpack but his clothes for the lecture, he hangs up the pants and jacket before firing up his laptop and settling in for the evening to write.

Just for a change.

~o.O.o~

He writes a little, but is surprised to find himself distracted. He knows the reason. He knows he won't be able to relax until he meets the owner of that expressive voice. Perhaps then he can finally put an end to the thoughts that plague him every night; inappropriate thoughts that have no place in his serious literary mind, but have crept in anyway, hiding in the dark recesses of his overactive brain, waiting for an opportunity.

He rubs his eyes with thumb and forefinger and wonders if a nap would help, but the sad fact is that Carlisle is an insomniac, born from years of writing til all hours. He can no longer fall asleep at will; instead he merely naps for a few minutes here and there, refusing to resort to pills to aid his rest. He often wonders how long he can carry on at this pace, drinking countless cups of coffee and never truly resting, just working until his body screams 'time out'.

Picking up the phone, he calls room service and orders coffee. The young woman from the desk asks him if he would like a meal as the restaurant is now open. His stomach reminds him that he hasn't eaten since breakfast, and he peruses the little menu by the phone, opting for a roast beef dinner and a decadent dessert. He figures that he might as well enjoy the amenities when the publishing house is paying.

Hearing the rattle of the trolley outside his door a few minutes later, he opens it to allow the man to enter and place his food and coffee on the table therein. He cannot help but look at the man and wonder if it is he that possesses the voice that has him captivated. Offering the man a customary tip, he is politely thanked with a warm smile and Carlisle thereby receives confirmation that this is not the man he seeks.

The food is good and energises him. The coffee is strong and hot, and soon Carlisle is writing again, deep into his work, the hours once again melting away.

It's late when he returns to reality, and he checks the little card before deciding to ring down for more coffee. When the velvet tones of his mystery man flow down the handset, he is almost unable to speak.

"Uh, sorry to disturb you, but I'd like some coffee sent up if I may?" The words are forced out, his lungs barely functioning.

"Of course, sir. What is your room number?"

"Oh, yes, it's room 13."

He thinks he imagines the pause that follows, but then the man speaks again as if nothing has happened.

"Certainly, Mr Cullen."

Of course he knows the night clerk has the names of each guest to hand. He knows it means nothing, and yet the thought at the back of his mind points out that the young lady simply called him 'sir'.

A member of the night staff arrives with his coffee, a polite and respectful gentleman who is also a complete disappointment to Carlisle. He wonders what he is actually expecting from this man. He has no preconceived notions about appearance or even age, although he admits to himself that the voice sounded young. In a moment of madness for Carlisle, he takes his room key and makes his way quietly to the stairs, intending to catch a glimpse of whoever is on the reception desk.

When he sees the desk is unmanned, he returns to his room, bitter disappointment like a knife in his gut.

He undresses, dons the luxury bathrobe provided, and then naps in the generously proportioned bed for a brief time, achieving nothing that could be considered restorative sleep. He then settles in to write some more, this time staying beneath the covers as much as possible, still shrouded in the warm robe. It is then that the thought occurs to him.

_Stay one more night._

He knows he will have to change his plane ticket, and pay the additional room charge. Yet all he can think about is leaving without ever finding the owner of the dulcet tones that have owned him since that first telephone call.

As dawn breaks, he goes to take a refreshing shower and prepare for the day ahead. He fervently hopes the lecture will be a success, and that he will manage to complete it without mishap or embarrassment, proving himself to be the professional that others believe him to be. Looking at himself in the mirror, he sees pale skin in keeping with his blond hair, a straight nose and full lips. But in his own eyes he sees a story that few have ever bothered to stay long enough to read, and he wonders again if he is fooling himself with his thoughts over this man.

After dressing carefully, he takes himself downstairs to breakfast, knowing that at this hour he is likely to be alone to eat. The staff are readying the restaurant, and smile at his what they believe to be enthusiasm for his meal. Only he of course knows that it is purely an avoidance tactic to keep contact with others to a minimum; his day ahead will be fraught enough without crowded tables and stilted conversation.

He is first to be served, and sips his steaming coffee as his pen scribbles notes on a small pad secreted in his inner jacket pocket. His eggs are perfect, his bacon crisp; he drains his second cup of coffee and wipes his mouth with his cloth napkin before standing and leaving the table, nodding to the serving staff without meeting their smiling gaze.

Returning to his room, he fetches his case having checked the contents one last time to be sure that everything is in order. Pulling on his coat, he makes his way back down to the foyer and heads outside to hail a taxi.

In his bid to be invisible, his eyes on the carpet ahead, he fails to see the young man openly gazing at him, his bronze hair shining in the early morning sunlight.

He fails to see the look that most would recognise as desire.

~o.O.o~

Arriving at the university, he finds his way to the main office as instructed. Escorted to the lecture hall, he is both grateful and concerned by the attention the lady is showing. When she asks if there is anything he needs, he sees his chance and asks for coffee. She flits away to fetch him a cup, and he settles himself into a seat in the hall, breathing deep and trying not to panic. He admits to himself that what scares him most is that they are not much younger than he, and wonders if they might think him unworthy of giving the lecture.

His coffee arrives as the students file in. He dares not look up until his watch says it's time to start, the murmur of voices having reached an excited volume. Taking a deep steadying breath, he survives the lecture, barely making eye contact with anyone unless it is absolutely necessary. The students are entranced by his assumed air of authority, his knowledge holding them in thrall. They ask intelligent questions that he answers with a sense of accomplishment and relief.

The lecture draws to a close and he receives a resounding round of applause from his young audience. He fears that some might try to speak to him, but fortunately they all have classes to get to and he is spared the awkwardness of such an encounter.

When the auditorium has emptied he makes his way outside, having been effusively thanked by the Dean. It is only when he is sitting in a taxi that he allows himself to relax, and think of the man who has become so central to his current existence.

Arriving back at the Dragonfly, he remembers his plan. Waiting at the reception desk, he clears his throat self-consciously and waits for the young lady to look up. She smiles at him and he makes his request – is his room available for an extra night? She replies in the affirmative and makes the booking, confirming the charge will be made to his card, and not the publishing house. Using the public telephone on the desk, he then calls the airport and successfully changes his flight time to New York.

He feels strange, almost exultant, as if he has completed a great mission. Heading up to his room, he changes out of his suit and into his spare set of casual clothing that he brought in case of emergency. He then proceeds to lose himself in his work, feeling the words flow now that the pressure of the lecture has passed.

He writes until late; realising he has only minutes in which to order his evening meal, he calls down to reception. The young lady once again takes his order and his food arrives promptly, its arrival announced by the rattling trolley.

With his stomach once again full of good food and hot coffee, he settles in for a night of writing and research.

~o.O.o~

A little after midnight, he calls down for fresh coffee and is rewarded with the honeyed tones of his obsession.

"Yes, could I have coffee sent up please? Room -"

"13, yes of course, Mr Cullen. It will be with you shortly."

Carlisle replaces the handset, his chest tight, hand shaking almost imperceptibly with the rush of adrenalin.

_This obsession isn't healthy. _

For indeed, he now accepts it to be so; an obsession he cannot escape.

The soft knock on the door rouses him from his work once again. He answers the door, stepping back to allow the waiter inside.

The man is not one he has met before, and appears uncomfortable as he sets down the tray of coffee. Carlisle holds the door for him, but he hesitates and then speaks, looking at him hopefully.

"Uhm, forgive me, Mr Cullen, but I was wondering if you would like some company? I'm on my break and I..."

Carlisle reels at the recognition, his heart pounding so hard he fears he may hyperventilate. The owner of the voice is more beautiful than he could have imagined and, despite his own overwhelming draw to the man, he cannot understand why he wishes to spend his break alone with him.

The man is still looking at him and waiting for an answer, his face clouding as he assumes his company is not welcome. Carlisle finds his voice just as he turns to leave.

"Yes, I would."

He looks down at the tray to see two cups and is hit with the sudden understanding that the man planned this; it was not some idle offer. He beckons him in unnecessarily and the door closes, but this time, instead of shutting the world out, he has a small fraction of it here, on his own private plane of existence.

He is gawky, almost childlike in his awkwardness. The man motions to the coffee and pours two cups, handing one to him. The entire time, Carlisle is looking at him in wonder, taking in his height, his pale skin, crazy bronze hair that looks to be natural despite the vibrancy of the tone. And then there are his eyes; deep pools of green that threaten to swamp Carlisle's fragile vista and forever change the landscape of his world.

They sit and sip coffee, neither speaking, until the man finally puts down his almost untouched cup and breaks the impasse.

"I should introduce myself. I'm Edward Masen, Mr Cullen, and I just wanted to meet you unofficially. I recognised your name when your publishing house made the booking, and I wanted to see if you were like some of the other authors we've had staying here."

Carlisle watches his lips form the words, trying his hardest at the same time to both remain detached and appear comfortable in this unforeseen situation.

"In what way, may I ask?"

The man, _Edward,_ looks past him, a slight flush rising over his throat. Carlisle is fascinated by the reaction almost as much as the timbre of his voice.

"Some are quite arrogant and demanding, liking the attention that recognition affords them. But you... the staff have hardly noticed you, and when you have appeared you were quiet and respectful. I have to say it's rather unusual from my experience. But then, what do I know? I'm just a duty manager in a small hotel; you're a big shot writer. One whose work I enjoy, I should add."

He flushes harder this time, as if the confession has cost him dearly.

Carlisle struggles with this information. He fears becoming entangled in fan situations; indeed his earlier lecture had ended successfully in his mind because he had not had to speak privately with any students.

Edward seems to notice his inner conflict and is quick to dispel his anxiety.

"Mr Cullen..."

"Carlisle, please."

"Carlisle..." Hearing his name fall from those lips causes a ripple of goosebumps to flare across his back, the quickening of his own breathing almost undetectable.

"It's okay; I'm not some crazed fan. I just felt like I had to meet you, to talk to you. I'm not explaining it well and it's starting to sound weird to my own ears. Perhaps I should go."

He makes to rise, but stops when Carlisle speaks.

"How long is your break, Edward?" For the first time in a long time, he makes full eye contact, feeling once again that same punch to the gut at the open beauty of his gaze.

"Just 20 minutes. There are only two of us on duty overnight. In fact, my break is almost over and I should be getting back. I'm sorry to have intruded on your time, but I thank you for your hospitality. I hope I haven't kept you up; it's late."

He stands and offers his hand to Carlisle who clasps it, unprepared for the bolt of lightning that rips through him, leaving him weak in both body and soul. A sensation long forgotten rises to the surface.

His memory kindly reminds him that its name is desire.

Finding his voice, he responds with an almost desperate air.

"I barely sleep, hence the coffee. You certainly weren't disturbing me."

Edward steps to the door, turning to face him.

"It was a true pleasure to meet you. I'm glad you stayed an extra night; I enjoyed talking to you, albeit briefly."

Carlisle agrees, his heart in his throat, as he smiles for the first time in who knows how long.

Picking up the now empty coffee cups, Edward quietly leaves the room, leaving a void that can forevermore only be filled by a voice like liquid sex and expressive sea-green eyes.

Carlisle heads to the shower, bewildered by this turn of events and his own unexpected reaction. After freshening up, he dons the hotel robe once more. As he lies back against the plump pillows, his mind now races with desire for both the physical as well as the aural vision of his fantasy. He eventually drifts into a light sleep, laced with flashes of green and bronze.

In his slumber, he smiles.

~o.O.o~

Waking after an unusually refreshing sleep, he looks at his watch to see that it's 6am and that four hours have passed. He marvels at this, having not slept for longer than two hours in one stretch for many months.

The knock at his door sends him into a mild panic. Heart racing, he jumps up, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. Opening the door a fraction, he is met with the one sight he could only have dreamed of; he blinks hard to ensure he is awake.

"May I come in?" His voice, low and sultry in the darkened hallway, resonates through Carlisle who opens the door wide as if compelled.

"I hope this is okay; my shift just ended and I wanted to say goodbye before I left."

Carlisle is aware that he is nodding, holding the door open for Edward to enter. The room inside is dark, save for a bedside lamp casting a pool of light across the pillows. To Carlisle, having Edward in the room takes it from safe and cosy to oddly intimate. He is surprised to discover that he is more than happy with this transition.

Edward stands, fingers raking his hair as he sees Carlisle's robe and the disturbed bed linen.

"I woke you? I'm so sorry; I should go."

He turns, somewhat embarrassed, and it is Carlisle who speaks up, his voice shaking with the complex mix of feelings searing his blood in Edward's proximity.

"No; I was already awake, and believe me, you're disturbing nothing."

He chuckles self-consciously, the sound alien to his ears after so long. He begins to realise just how many things he has missed in his time of self-imposed exile. He sits on the edge of the bed, adjusting his robe, and motions to Edward to sit.

"Mr Cullen... Carlisle...I..." He sounds unsure, his former confidence appearing to desert him momentarily.

Edward points to the bed. "May I?"

When Carlisle nods, the mattress dips as he perches on the edge, his fingers tracing the carved wood at its foot. Carlisle watches his Adams apple bob as he swallows, and wonders what he could possibly want to say that is causing him so much difficulty.

After a drawn out pause that charges the air, Edward shuffles around to face Carlisle, a knee bent up onto the coverlet. He clears his throat, the back of his hand over his mouth obscuring Carlisle's view of his lips.

The fingers of his supporting hand are kneading the exposed sheet, his facial muscles twitching as he verges on speech. Carlisle's fingers slide along the sheet, wanting to soothe the anxious clenching; Edward's eyes follow their progress and there is an audible intake of breath announcing aloud his anticipation. Carlisle finds the courage from somewhere deep inside to push his hand forwards that extra fraction. The pads of his fingertips slide over the smooth, neat nails and settle, feather light, on his knuckles. This minute amount of skin to skin contact is enough to cause Carlisle further sensory shock.

Edward is not so hesitant; pushing his hand under Carlisle's, he laces their fingers together, finally dispelling any doubt that either man has. They both gaze at their intertwined digits in wonder; looking up, their eyes meet and lock, raw need, the basest desire of all, flooding the space between them.

It's Carlisle who surprises himself, moving closer to the beautiful man with the wide, sincere eyes as if in a dream. His face draws close to Edward's, and he feels his warm breath, hears its slight rasp as his intake becomes ragged. Carlisle gazes into pools of deepest green and prepares to drown.

Leaning into the moment, Edward's hand slips and he almost loses his balance. The moment is broken as their hands part, Edward trying to recover his composure with embarrassment painfully apparent in his now introverted posture. He stands, unsure of what he should do, and Carlisle watches him before rising to his feet. He says nothing, instead reaching for him, his fingers sinking into his unruly hair. He cups his head, feeling the warmth as Edward leans into the caress before meeting his eyes. The desire in their depths is intoxicating, and all it takes to ignite the spark is Edward's whisper:

"Please..."

Their lips meet, inelegantly and loudly, moans escaping as their mouths discover each other for the first time. Arms wind around necks, hands cup faces, tongues flutter and caress in a joyous whirlwind voyage of discovery. Carlisle is lost at sea, one small boat bobbing on ferocious waves that promise his destruction, and yet he cares not.

When out of sheer necessity they part, chests heaving, hearts pounding, Carlisle whispers in surrender:

"I want you."

Edward's answer is one of complete supplication.

"I'm yours."

**~o.O.o~**


	2. Chapter 2

To all of you who put this on alert – you win! As it turned out, I needed to know what happened next too.

A small side note: I have submitted a Jasper/Bella piece to Fandoms 4 Autism. Please go check out their blog for more info on this great cause and to find out how to sign up or donate to help them reach their target.

Thanks to my beta mxpi1970 and my pre-reader Jasper1863Hale. All characters owned and created by Stephenie Meyer, but this plot is entirely my own.

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><p><strong>All I Want to Hear<strong>

**Chapter 2**

For the longest moment they gaze at each other, neither quite able to believe that this fragile link between them is taking on form and substance, propelling them onward into the unknown.

For Edward, the realisation that his fantasy now stands before him, openly confessing his desire, makes his psyche almost fold in on itself trying to process this unforeseen, but much yearned for, turn of events.

Carlisle pulls him into a scorching kiss that paints his world in shades of decadent desire. The combination of the early hour and the dimly lit room ensures an intimacy that neither man could have planned, yet it is completely fitting. The men grow in confidence, inhibitions slowly lessening, as each learns more about the other from every subtle gesture and moan.

Carlisle feels as if he is outside his body, watching his own lips caress the throat from which comes the maddeningly intoxicating voice. With his fingers entangled in locks of thick hair, he nuzzles the delicate skin, sucking and nipping for brief moments at a time; Edward's neck tautens, his head tilting in total obeisance. He is acutely aware that, while he remains fully clothed, Carlisle is wearing nothing more than a robe that is coming loose at the tie. Desire making him brave, he reaches inside the soft towelling to the warm flesh within, feeling Carlisle's body leap at the unfamiliar sensation.

When by necessity their lips part, Edward wrenches off his necktie and pulls his shirt off over his head in haste, letting both drop to the floor, forgotten. With shaky gasps he then fumbles with his belt, wrenching it open along with his pants. Carlisle can barely draw breath because Edward naked is a joy to behold, and he is in awe of this beauty offered to him so willingly. It is Edward who pulls open the tie to Carlisle's robe, removing the final barrier between them and revealing Carlisle's body, in its aroused state, to his view. He grows bolder, pushing the robe from Carlisle's shoulders with both hands, letting it fall to the carpet with a soft thump. Finally they both stand naked, almost touching, poised on the verge of new discoveries, new pleasures.

Carlisle now stands before him, trembling with a need long forgotten; his would-be lover draws in a breath, a look of wonder on his face at what he has revealed. All hesitation gone, they reach for each other once more; hands mould themselves to firm, defined planes of muscle, the strong curve of buttock and thigh. In the intimate half-light, inhibitions are shucked along with clothes.

The back of Edward's trembling hand caresses Carlisle's hipline, trailing down to where his interest is apparent. Wide, tremulous eyes watch as Edward's hand briefly encompasses hard, ardent flesh, causing both to gasp erratically. Heart rates hammer and faces draw closer; this time naked bodies touch and blend, heat into heat, arms entangling as lips rejoice in reunion.

Feeling his body turning to liquid, Carlisle all but drags Edward the short distance to the bed, pulling them both down onto the rumpled sheets. In the dim recesses of his mind, a whispered voice asks him if he is sure about this; after all, it has been some time since he indulged in any kind of sexual activity. What if he is a disappointment? Could he cope with the humiliation of failing as a lover? With a concerted effort, he slams the door shut on his subconscious, letting instinct and Edward's responses guide him.

The hammering of his heartbeat is discernible under Carlisle's hand, an eager accompaniment to the heated activity in which they are engaged. Their kisses are driven by a force not of their own control; tongues slide together forging a lasting connection of deep, dizzying need. Breaking apart is impossible, unthinkable. The need to possess, to consume, overrides any futile commands their minds try to issue. There is nothing but now, this moment of mutual surrender to carnal impulse.

Edward reaches forward, his hand skating across warm flesh that flutters in response to his hesitant touch, every delicate stroke creating a masterpiece of sensation. He himself silently begs to be touched and, in a perfect moment of synchronicity, Carlisle's hand finds the warmth of his thigh, his fingertips tracing patterns of fire so enticing that Edward's legs part without hesitation.

His moans are deep and long, feeling to Carlisle as if they emanate from his own throat. He is intoxicated by the sounds Edward makes, and desperate to elicit even more beautiful sounds, he reluctantly breaks the kiss. For a moment, his eyes gaze into forest green depths, seeing the naked trust that lies within. He knows his own eyes reflect that same intensity, the wonder of the unknown, the need to pleasure this willing, eager body or die trying.

His hand locates a nipple, his fingers circling the nub before squeezing it to gauge the reaction. Edward's eyes darken a fraction, his lips parting in a silent gasp. His other nipple is afforded the same courtesy before Carlisle leans in, claiming both his mouth and the resulting gasp that leaves it, with the same relish as a connoisseur savouring a fine wine.

When his mouth lowers to capture and tease a proud nub, he watches Edward's eyes roll back, his body arching into Carlisle's mouth for more. He rewards this response by grazing his teeth across the swollen, reddened peak, the resulting helpless cry of pleasure proving to be a powerful aphrodisiac. Carlisle shudders as he feels warm hands glide down his torso, fingers splaying to encompass his waist. When those same hands come to rest low down on his hips, he feels thumbs circling in his curls, sending goose bumps flaring across his body and down his arms. The smallest fraction inward and those thumbs will be caressing his tight sac. His aroused body is screaming for contact, for the feel of Edward's hands on his hard flesh once more.

Edward reaches out blindly, panting for air, and scratches his nails down Carlisle's chest before coming into contact with the proof of his desire. His hand cups the firm sac, feeling Carlisle still momentarily when he caresses the beautiful high globes. Forcing his eyes open, he looks at Carlisle then, seeing the need etched across his features, the frown of concentration that furrows his eyebrows at the delicate, maddening touch. Their eyes meet and lock in an intense connection that speaks volumes; the air around them hums with electricity in the second before their mouths crash together once again.

They writhe on the rumpled sheets, their bodies in perfect alignment to feel every inch of the other. They roll over, Edward now in control, his hand still cupping his treasure. He allows his thumb to lightly press against the base of Carlisle's length while flicking their tongues together in a gesture that promises heavenly pleasure to follow.

Dragging himself away from those bewitching lips, he kisses his way down the trembling body to where his hand gently massages. At last he gets to taste his prize; a gentle flicker of his tongue over the proud head has Carlisle groaning unashamedly, moisture leaking freely from his shaft that Edward laps up without hesitation. When he finally succumbs to temptation and engulfs him in warm, wet heat, his fingers manipulating the sac in his hand, he hears his name in the guttural groan that ensues.

"_Edward..."_

Edward wants to be everywhere. He wants his hands in Carlisle's hair, his lips pressed tight to his; he wants this swollen shaft in his mouth and he wants it in his tight opening.

This is pleasure, verging on madness. Just a couple of hours ago he had planned to go straight home after work and pleasure himself in the shower, fantasising about doing exactly this. He has been hard since the very moment their hands touched across the bed. The taste of him in that first kiss was enough to swamp his senses, obscuring all other thought. And now... now he could die knowing that he is complete, that he has found what makes him whole. His mouth sinks down on Carlisle again, relishing the cry as he takes him deeper.

Carlisle's body jerks upward, his teeth clenched as he fights to hold back, to not disappoint his new lover by climaxing so soon. When the pleasure threatens to peak, he stills Edward's head with this palms, meeting his open gaze as he withdraws from his talented lips, his chest heaving with the effort.

Edward whimpers at the loss, succeeding in running the flat of his tongue from Carlisle's sac to the tip of his shaft before allowing himself to be dragged away. Pinned to the sheet, he can see the beads of sweat at Carlisle's hairline, able to do no more than watch the blond head lower to his own stiff member; the tip of Carlisle's tongue flutters around the spot where his foreskin has retracted, sending waves of sensation crashing over him.

Carlisle mentally begs Edward not to speak; he fears that hearing his name now would spell the end of his fragile self-control. Fortunately, Edward is able to produce only guttural gasps as he watches his torturer in action. Carlisle takes the engorged mushroom shaped head between his lips and sucks lovingly, revelling in the beauty of the harsh indrawn breath when his tongue dips into the tip, collecting the bounty that flows for him. He sinks slowly down, letting the swollen head slide across the roof of his mouth, just daring Edward to lose control.

Edward's face is pained, striving as he is to hold off his orgasm. His eyes plead with Carlisle for permission, wanting his release, but more than that, desiring to please his lover. Releasing his length so very slowly with one last loving sweep over the tip, Carlisle pulls himself up the bed, level with the object of his obsession. Taking Edward's hand, he places both on their shafts, holding them together so that the sensitive undersides are in full and constant contact. As their hands start to move, they lose themselves in a deep kiss, breathing quickening, soft cries of pleasure escaping that grow in volume when their joined hands move faster, chasing their bliss.

"_Carlisle!"_

When he hears Edward's desperate cry, his name inevitably escaping those perfect lips as he had always known it would, he is lost to intense joy, their bodies pulsing and shuddering in unison, each honouring the other with their release.

~o.O.o~

As their bodies calm, temporarily sated, they talk.

Carlisle is intrigued in how Edward discovered his work and why he is so interested. Edward shyly explains he has read Carlisle's first book, 'In search of Witches', a history of witchcraft, and found himself enthralled with the retelling of the women's plight, often wrongly accused and punished for nothing more than mere herbalism and midwifery. Edward's own interest into pagan and supernatural history is what originally led him to Carlisle's work, and he found himself drawn in by the writing and the emotional attachment to the victims. Carlisle has since published a work of fiction, woven through the same era as the Salem Witch Trials. This time however, Edward was every bit as captivated by the handsome man on the flyleaf as by the story itself.

Wanting to know more, he researched the author on the internet, learning little, other than his university degree and his age: 28. Edward himself is 24, and has never seen the inside of a university, needing a job and money to survive life in the real world after finding himself alone at 18 with no real skills to fall back on. He fell into the hotel trade when he applied for part time work as a porter, working his way up to receptionist and finally to duty manager. There are few perks to his job other than the occasional chance to meet someone famous, someone he admires; those few incidents have always been a disappointment, a bubble burst, thanks to pomposity, arrogance, and over inflated egos.

Meeting Carlisle Cullen, historian and author, had never seemed a possibility. However, when his name appeared in the booking register, Edward made sure he was on duty to have the very best chance of meeting the beautiful man with the haunted eyes.

~o.O.o~

Carlisle listens to him speak, as transfixed by the tone of his voice as by the words themselves. Edward's eyes draw him in, and he knows there is so much more he needs to learn about him.

Most importantly - whether or not he will ever see him again.

That solitary thought spurs him onward and he leans in to kiss Edward's bitten lips, his voice a rough whisper.

"Is it wrong that I want you again?"

Edward's face goes slack, unable to hide his hunger.

"No – not wrong at all. Please... touch me. Please."

Their bodies blur together once more, slaves to the passion that controls us all.

~o.O.o~

They do not sleep, neither willing to waste a moment of their time together. After exhausting their bodies for a second time, they lie together, both knowing their rendezvous is coming to an end.

Carlisle is overwhelmed at the events that have occurred, never dreaming that something so wonderful could ever be offered so willingly to one such as he. It feels to him as if he made a wish on a birthday candle, the wish manifesting before him only to fade away with the early morning light.

Carlisle has to rise, shower and pack for his flight. Checking the clock, he sees he has a little over an hour to vacate the room and eat some breakfast before catching a cab to the airport.

Plenty of time to shower, pack his few items and drink some coffee.

Plenty of time to hand back the room key and hail a cab.

Plenty of time.

But looking down, seeing Edward's eyes watching his face as if reading his thoughts, he knows that there will never be enough time to leave this room, to walk away from him.

To say goodbye.

Carlisle pushes himself to the edge of the bed, the feel of his feet hitting the floor returning him to the real world. He walks naked to the bathroom and showers quickly, closing his eyes and allowing the warm water to cascade over his face for a moment before flipping off the water and stepping out. Drying himself briskly, he ties the towel around his waist and steps back into the room. Edward is sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in his uniform, shirt open at the neck. His hands run through his hair to flatten it and hide the obvious evidence of their tryst.

Carlisle dresses, his movements jerky, uncharacteristically uncoordinated. Every button fastened takes him one step further away from the magic of their time together. He packs his clothes, zips his laptop case and realises he is done, that there is nothing more to keep him in the intimate cocoon they have created together.

Neither speaks; what is there to say? Carlisle struggles to find words to express his need for more. Edward wonders if this encounter is all there is, all there was ever meant to be.

Fear, pure and simple, holds both men captive, its oppressive presence making it impossible for either man to utter the words that could change their lives. Carlisle checks his watch and makes the decision to just leave; he can buy his coffee at the airport.

On turning, however, he sees Edward, eyes downcast, his posture awkward once again despite their recent intimacy.

On impulse he reaches out, his fingers smoothing Edward's hair, a thumb whispering down his cheek to rest on his lips. Edward captures his hand, holding it still before placing a kiss of gratitude on the open palm. He knows it's done, that what they had shared in those magical, stolen hours has dissipated under the scrutiny of the harsh early morning light. He sees Carlisle retreat into himself, back behind his protective walls, and assumes that any attempt he might make to infiltrate would be kindly, but firmly, rebuffed.

He looks into those eyes one last time, yearning for the openness he had seen when they were together, lost in pleasure. Now he sees guarded eyes once again and his chest aches for what he is losing.

He watches Carlisle collect his belongings and leave the snug room, his step leaden. He doesn't look back, doesn't see Edward's lips soundlessly mouth the words his heart is screaming:

_I've waited my whole life for you._

~o.O.o~

Carlisle's mind is spinning.

He makes his way downstairs to find the young lady on the desk for the day shift. Feeling as though she can see right through his forced facade of calm, he checks out of The Dragonfly Inn, standing outside in the cool morning air to wait for a cab. The day is as bright and clear as it was when he arrived, except that now everything has changed. His world is out of kilter and he knows not how to make everything right again.

His mind shows him the image of Edward sitting on the edge of the bed, kissing his hand in a tender farewell. What they had shared had been so unexpected despite the longing he had experienced, and he feels the oddest mix of gratitude and shame.

His sexual history is not prestigious; he has made mistakes he fervently wishes he could undo. Succumbing to desire was not always the sensible thing to do, in fact it was often downright reckless and to be regretted as soon as it was done. With Edward however, he feels a real sense of loss and acknowledges to his own mind that he has forever left a part of himself in that intimate room that gave life to his fantasy.

But fantasies cannot survive when subjected to reality. What they did together was special because it will never be repeated, never be spoken about to anyone. As much as it hurts to leave, Carlisle knows that he would only disappoint the younger man if they attempted a real relationship, and that is the last thing he wants to do.

But it does hurt, and try as he might he cannot forget the sound of Edward's gasps of pleasure, nor erase the memory of green eyes locked to his as they experienced their mutual release.

He needs his coffee and is grateful when the cab arrives to take him to the airport. Arriving without incident, he takes his carryon luggage to the coffee shop and orders a black coffee straight up. Sipping the scalding liquid, he finally feels able to breathe; he knows that the more distance he puts between himself and Edward the easier it will be to move on. There is no point dwelling on what might have been, and Carlisle admits to himself that what they shared was nothing more than a one night stand, no matter how strong the connection had felt at the time.

Perhaps, given time, he will forget.

Perhaps.

He sips his coffee.

The caffeine jolt does nothing for his anxiety.

~o.O.o~

Edward waits.

Waits for him to turn, to say that he cannot leave it like this.

But he finally accepts that Carlisle has gone.

Brushing himself down, he checks himself in the mirror and collects his tie from the chair. With one last look back at the bed in total disarray from their coupling, he makes his way to the door.

The staff are not expecting to see him at this hour and so, when Alice briefly leaves to pass on a telephone message, he slips down the stairs and out of the front door into the sunshine.

His walk home is pleasant enough. On the way he stops to buy a soda which he drinks as he walks. He is home before the can is drained.

Stepping into his small apartment, he closes the door and leans back against it, happy to lock the world outside. Walking to the bathroom, he surveys his reflection in the mirror. Nothing looks outwardly different; indeed, at a passing glance he looks the same as he always does. Only he can see the swollen lips, the skin still pinked from excitement and exertion.

Peeling off his shirt, he examines himself in the mirror, exalting in each slight mark, evidence to his eyes that he did not dream those too brief, hedonistic hours. His fingertips trace his lips, finding them tender to the touch. His hand slides down his body and he shudders, seeing his reflected eyes darken at the memory his body so clearly remembers. Although intent on showering, his feet take him into his lounge room, to his shelf of well read books. Plucking one from its allotted spot, he turns to the flyleaf; his fingers trace the face that will stay with him in his dreams.

He wonders if he will ever hear from him again.

~o.O.o~

His flight is delayed, and Carlisle feels restless. When they finally announce that his flight is boarding, he hurries to the gate, almost running in his desperation to return home to normality and his comfortable routine.

Settling into his seat, he stares out of the window, his own reflection partially blocking the view. Focusing in, he sees a lost, lonely man staring back, sadness in the bleak eyes. He looks away, unable to bear the sight.

The flight is uneventful, and feels shorter to Carlisle, lost as he is in his thoughts. Taking his luggage, he leaves the airport and hails a cab, eager to return home.

Stepping out of the cab and into his home is a defining moment. He has returned to where life is simple and ordered, where nothing happens without his say-so. A small nagging thought reminds him that unplanned occurrences can result in something incredible, something verging on life-changing if he permits it to be.

The sound of Edward's voice on the phone had enchanted him from the very start.

Although he doesn't know it yet, the memory of his cries of pleasure will now haunt his dreams.

His orderly, structured life has been blown apart in one night by one extraordinary man. Try as he might, he cannot pretend that everything will just continue on as it did before.

Determined to bury himself in his work, he pulls out his laptop, opening it up to start writing.

Lying on the keyboard, contrasting starkly with the sleek machine, is a piece of white paper, bearing The Dragonfly Inn insignia.

There is writing on the paper.

And Carlisle's heart almost beats out of his chest.

**~o.O.o~**


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to my beta mxpi1970. All characters owned and created by Stephenie Meyer, but the plot is all my own.

* * *

><p><strong>All I Want to Hear<strong>

**Chapter 3**

The note sits accusingly on the keys.

Carlisle struggles for breath before reaching out with a shaky hand.

He doesn't recognise the writing, but then how could he? The note was written in haste – that much is apparent – and he forces himself to read, fear of what he will discover sitting heavy on his chest.

'_Carlisle,_

_I don't want this to be goodbye, but I guess I understand if it is. I will never forget what we shared – I hope you believe that. I've enclosed my number so, if you'd like to talk, I'll be waiting. _

_Call me – please?_

_Edward.'_

His fingers twitch and start to reach for his phone before pulling back as if stung.

_What would it achieve? _

Despite his earlier wonderings of whether he would ever see Edward again, faced with the actual opportunity, Carlisle finds himself paralysed with indecision. Whilst the time they had spent together was wonderful, priceless beyond imagining, he tells himself that trying to repeat the hedonistic experience would be foolhardy. He convinces himself that there can be no realistic future for them because, after all, they live a plane ride apart and Carlisle is a workaholic with little time to spare for distractions.

His own mind refuses to admit that he is bordering on agoraphobic and crippled with fear at the thought of change.

The bubble has burst; reality has seeped in and smeared the once bright colours of passion into an ill-defined blur.

Making his way to his bedroom, he undresses and attempts to sleep for a while.

~o.O.o~

Edward wakes, his hand straying to his hardened flesh as the final ghosts of his dream flee his conscious mind. His body reacts to the stimuli from both the dream and his experienced hand, but the resulting climax leaves him feeling unfulfilled and empty.

He knows the reason and knows there is nothing more he can do. He has tentatively put his feelings out there and can now only wait for a sign that one day they may be reciprocated. He has no way of contacting him, save for the address of his agent held on file at the Dragonfly. He realises that taking that road may lead to him being cast aside as a delusional fan, his letter never actually reaching Carlisle's hand.

Leaving the note had been a split second decision. Carlisle had been showering and Edward had taken a piece of hotel stationery from the desk and scribbled down a note with his number, stashing it in the one place he knew Carlisle would see it, possibly even on the plane ride home. Disappointment had been hard to ignore when, hours later, there had been no call. Carlisle held all the cards; he could contact the hotel directly, or ring his private number.

Edward refuses to accept the nagging thought that Carlisle may never call.

Despite having seen the walls go up, despite having felt the intimacy of their connection dissipate when Carlisle prepared to leave, Edward refuses to give up.

He believes in Carlisle.

If only he could tell him.

~o.O.o~

Dreams, both vivid and unsettling, command his subconscious. Carlisle's sleep is both fitful and frenetic, his mind overcrowded with sensory input, the eroticism of colour and sound.

He wakes feeling groggy and disoriented, reaching confusedly for the warm body he believes to be in his bed. When his hand encounters only cold sheets and an untouched pillow, he mentally chastises himself for such a foolish notion; it is a simple mistake after the previous night's endeavours.

Soon forgotten, or so he thinks.

The phone rings, startling his mind into reality. For now, the memories of Edward's cries of passion recede into shadow, all too ready to be summoned when slumber beckons once again. The caller is his agent asking for an update on the trip and the lecture. Carlisle breathes deep and gives him the information requested, tells of the success of the lecture and the positive response from the students and the Dean.

His body betrays him when he is asked if the hotel was satisfactory. His agent informs him that the Dragonfly Inn is a popular choice for travellers, highly recommended by other writers he has sent to Maine. Carlisle can only make non committal noises, can only confirm the food was excellent, the service exemplary.

'_Is it wrong that I want you again?'_

His own words echoing in his ears have his hand shaking, his memory unspooling; glimpses of green eyes lost to pleasure beneath him flood his senses and it is all he can do to finish the call. Fumbling with his robe, his hand finds his flesh hard and aching, needing relief, needing pleasure...

Needing Edward.

He handles himself forcefully, punishing himself for this weakness. He tells himself that this is the only time he will consciously allow his mind to hear the soft honeyed tones of his voice, feel Edward's hands on his skin, his warm, wet mouth caressing his eager shaft.

It isn't until he climaxes, gasping Edward's name, his flesh continuing to throb long after his ejaculation is over, that he realises he is crying.

~o.O.o~

Edward drags himself into the shower and prepares for his shift. The hotel is full for a symposium and he is kept busy with customer orders and staff rotas throughout the night.

But he cannot deny how his heart leaps every time the phone rings, cannot deny how he wishes he could go up to that room and just breathe in the scent of them together. But he knows that the room has already been cleaned and aired out, all traces of Carlisle gone except for lingering memories of a fantasy that became so much more.

For the first time in his career he is subdued at work, finding it hard to concentrate. Always the picture of professionalism, outwardly he is the same efficient man, but inside he is a hollow shell. Try as he might, he cannot simply accept their encounter is over and move on; finding, and subsequently losing the one thing he has dreamed of has left him empty and bereft.

On his break he checks his cell, hoping against hope there will be a message or a missed call.

There is nothing.

And his heart dies a little more.

~o.O.o~

Carlisle sits working deep into the night, struggling with the words that usually come to him so easily. His mind is dulled and he finds that he has lost time staring into space, unfocused and unproductive.

Looking at the clock he sees it is almost 4am and forces his somewhat weary body to go to the kitchen for coffee.

No room service here.

No seductive voice to take his order.

No late night rendezvous...

Elbows on the counter, his hands delve into his hair as he tries to claw back some semblance of self control, to once again retreat into the safety of his own world. But, try as he might, he can't concentrate, can't think of anything other than the man who has opened his eyes to the possibility of more.

He barely tastes his coffee, aware only of the jolt of caffeine that for once has no positive effect; instead it induces a nervous, edgy feeling that is alien to him. All reason has left him and as he sits in the pool of lamp light his fingers find the keyboard, typing in the address for the Dragonfly. The website opens, displaying the inn and sample rooms for booking. He knows it's wrong, dangerous even, but he sees his fingers move toward the phone as if they are no longer under his control. The phone on loudspeaker, he dials.

"Dragonfly Inn. How may I help you today?"

Edward's seductive yet professional tones fill the room and Carlisle gasps aloud before hitting the button to disconnect the call, internally berating himself.

His breathing loud and discordant in the quiet room, he slides the note across the desktop and stands to read it once again, pacing around the small space, torturing himself with the simple message.

Unwillingly, his memory replays the harrowing moment when he had turned to leave the hotel room. The need to touch Edward one last time had been too strong to resist; one perfect moment to etch his beautiful face into memory. It was only afterwards on the flight home that he had succumbed to a moment of mental self flagellation at the hopelessness of it all.

At the time he hadn't seen, or perhaps he hadn't wanted to, but now he understands that Edward wants more, more than Carlisle himself is able to give.

_I am not capable of a relationship._

_He wouldn't understand. He deserves better._

But despite his best intentions, despite his staunch belief that what they experienced was a never to be repeated night of passion, Carlisle feels the razor sharp agony of loss and remembers again why he chooses to live his life alone.

A solitary individual even as a child, Carlisle's mother had thought of him as The Cat Who Walked by Himself. He had refused to play with other children, preferring his company to come in the form of books. He knows she despaired of him, never mixing, never joining in, just sitting quietly in his room with a large chunk of the local library balanced precariously by his bed, but she never fully understood the happiness he derived from learning.

He himself never understood the need to be around others, and once he arrived at college he ensured he had a single room. No invasion of personal space could be tolerated in his quest for knowledge.

However, his ordered, solo traverse through college matriculation encountered a roadblock in his senior year; one that was to irrevocably change his life.

~o.O.o~

Edward answers the phone with the usual customary greeting and is rewarded with what sounds like a sharp intake of breath before the line goes dead.

Not the first hang up he's ever had; most likely a wrong number.

Checking his cell at 6am, he is despondent when he sees that Carlisle hasn't called.

He makes his way home and takes to his bed early with Carlisle's book for company, the words consoling his aching heart.

When his cell phone rings he jumps, rolling over to reach it, but it barely manages two rings before falling silent. The number on the display is withheld and he sighs, knowing full well it was a telemarketer. Placing both book and phone on the bedside table, he sets his alarm and settles down to sleep.

_Perhaps tomorrow he'll call._

~o.O.o~

Circling the room, Carlisle dials the number on the paper before immediately hanging up and throwing the phone at the armchair, appalled at his own weakness.

Turning off his laptop, he heads to the shower and finally to bed.

Sleep eludes him and he resorts to meditation to calm his whirring mind and ease his tormented thoughts.

Finally he succumbs, his soul finding solace in slumber.

But pain will not be denied, for when Carlisle dreams, he weeps.

~o.O.o~

The following day lasts the regulation 24 hours, but to Edward it seems much longer.

To Carlisle, it is interminable.

After four hours Carlisle wakes with a headache, unbeknownst to him caused by his mental anguish.

He prepares a light breakfast, but has no appetite, eating mechanically with no interest in the food.

He spends the day researching, making inroads into his new book. What he doesn't realise is that the only reason he can concentrate is because subconsciously he knows that Edward is sleeping and cannot be reached.

As the day wears on, his coffee intake increases.

As evening falls again, he gazes out of his apartment window at the city lights; lights that speak of people and families and busy lives - the antithesis of his own cloistered world. In spite of everything he has endured and everything that he believes, Carlisle feels an unfamiliar pang of loneliness.

He feels poised on the cusp of change.

And it terrifies him.

~o.O.o~

The night is quiet at the Dragonfly leaving Edward with too much time to think. He feels embarrassment at Carlisle's apparent rejection of him, and some measure of regret over the note.

_He must have thought me needy. _

He resolves to stop thinking about him and write off the whole encounter as the one night stand it clearly was. His mood on the walk home is subdued; once the door is closed he watches some mindless television before heading off to bed.

The phone rings as he sinks into the fresh linen and he groans, reaching across the pillow. Upon answering the phone there is only silence. Concentrating, he realises he hears breathing and swallows before tentatively speaking.

"Carlisle? Is that you? Don't hang up; please... don't."

The caller remains silent, but the line is still open and Edward grows more confident that this is indeed the man he desires. The tension grows as the silence stretches out until finally, finally, there is contact.

"Edward?" The softly spoken voice sends shivers through Edward who breathes out suddenly, his hand shaking as he grips the handset. "Edward, I'm sorry..."

He hears the anguish in Carlisle's voice and wants to comfort him, to tell him that apologies aren't necessary, but Carlisle isn't done.

"I thought it would be for the best if I didn't call you. I don't want to lead you on. But the truth is I can't... I can't go the rest of my life never hearing your voice again; it's held me prisoner since we first spoke."

Edward's yearning for Carlisle overcomes any coherent thought. He takes a chance, perhaps the only one he will get.

"You like my voice too? I find yours so erotic. You – you have such power over me. You turn me on, Carlisle." He pauses, taking a steadying breath for courage. "You could ask me to do anything and I would be compelled to obey you."

"Edward, I..." His words cut off, his breathing deepening. "Edward, I can't offer you anything. I'm not that person. I can't explain, just believe me."

"Carlisle, tell me what you want me to do." His voice is low, respectful, and Carlisle has to stop for a moment to interpret the meaning behind those words. He breathes in sharply, wondering if he has understood correctly.

"What are you saying?"

Edward's words are soft, but spoken with very clear intent.

"I want you. You want me. Tell me what you want me to do."

Carlisle's breathing is erratic now, his shaft already swollen at the sound of that expectant, provocative voice.

_God help me, I want him so badly._

In his mind he pictures Edward sprawled across a bed and lets his desires run free at last_._

"Are you naked, Edward?"

"No, I'm wearing underwear."

"Make yourself naked for me. I want to see every inch of you."

He hears the rustle of movement, the creak of a mattress, and knows his instructions are being carried out. The rush of power is intoxicating.

"I'm naked, Carlisle." The words are breathy in his ear and he grips his own hardness without thought.

"Good. Now tell me – are you hard?"

He hears the sharp breath, can see the green eyes darken in his mind, and already knows the answer.

"Yes, so hard."

"Touch yourself, just a little. Keep it slow."

He can hear the sounds Edward makes over the open line and it arouses him beyond belief. He has to force himself to keep going.

"Edward, I want to glide your foreskin up and down, and on each down stroke I want to run my tongue under it, circling the tip."

The helpless whimper of compliance he hears is delicious and Carlisle's eyes close as he pictures his lover, hard and eager.

"You taste so good, Edward, and I want more. I'm going to take every inch of you into my throat – would you like that? Tell me, Edward, are you very wet?"

The affirmation is little more than a groan, slick sounds of pleasure now filling his ear.

"Gather some of that sweet fluid and pull up your knees for me."

The sound of movement comes through the speaker loud and clear.

"When you're ready, I want you to circle your wet finger around your beautiful little hole. Do it slowly at first, as that's how I'm going to lick you."

He can hear the soft, desperate moans as Edward wantonly touches himself, waiting obediently for the next instruction. Carlisle feels as if he is having an out of body experience.

"Do you like me licking you there, Edward? Does my tongue feel good?"

"Yesss..."

"Are you ready for more? Are you ready to have me inside you?"

The urgent moan makes Carlisle's own balls tighten dangerously.

"One finger first, Edward, I want you nice and open for me."

He bites his lip, eyes still closed at the image of his lover fingering himself. His own stiff length is aching and wet, and he knows not to touch it at all now, the time for self pleasure is long past. His orgasm will come through Edward, not his own hand. Hearing the click of a bottle, he knows Edward is preparing to carry out his instruction. The sudden held breath and subsequent languorous groan tell him when Edward is inside.

"Are you very tight, Edward? Will I fit?"

"So tight... ahhh..." He can hear when the wave of pleasure washes over him and pushes onward, wanting to take him to the very edge.

"When you're ready, I'm adding a second finger so I need you to be nice and relaxed for me. Breathe deeply and feel my fingers stretching you. Tell me how it feels, Edward."

"Oh god..."

Carlisle hears his breathing falter and then even out when his body accepts the second digit.

"That's good, Edward, that's so good. Now I'm going to slide them in and out while you touch yourself." His moan carries straight to Edward's groin. "It's no good, I can't resist sucking you, Edward; you taste too good."

His voice, low and husky, is pure sex seeping into Edward's ear. Edward wishes he had more hands so that he could pinch his nipples; his orgasm is so close but he wants to wait until Carlisle asks for it before he lets go. He wants so badly to please him.

"I'm about to fuck you, Edward. You need to be ready for me - can you take another finger?"

The only sounds he hears now are sticky and rhythmic, interlaced with rough, erratic breaths.

"Oh... _oh_... Carlisle I feel you," his lungs sound under strain, "I'm so full... I can hardly... take it... _ohhh god..."_

"You're gripping me so tight, Edward; you feel incredible."

Carlisle's voice flows down the phone and into his ear, finally giving Edward the instruction he so badly needs.

"Come for me, Edward; I want to feel your body tighten around me. Make me come too..."

The sounds of harsh breathing increase over the speaker as Edward works his body. Carlisle's head falls back in ecstasy at the sounds he is hearing; Edward's cries have a luscious rawness to them as he obeys each instruction without question.

"Carlisle... I need... I _need_..." He sounds as if he is gasping for air.

For Edward, Carlisle's voice is a whispered caress dancing across his erogenous zones.

"Tell me what you need."

"Bite my nipple, bite it hard... please..."

"Oh, those nipples of yours are so swollen. Do you like it when my teeth graze them, Edward? I want to hear you scream when I _bite..."_

Edward's fingers release his throbbing length and pinch one turgid peak sharply. His helpless wail of pleasure carries down the open line as he climaxes with such force that his own ejaculate lands on his neck and chest. Carlisle has merely to squeeze his tightened balls and his own body convulses into a long delayed orgasm, his groan travelling straight into Edward's ear, a sound so wonderful that he can almost feel warm breath fanning his face, soft lips against his neck.

There is only panting as both men ride out their pleasure; coming down they are finally able to speak, albeit in somewhat unsteady voices.

"Carlisle?"

"Yes, Edward?"

"I swear I get hard just hearing you say my name. I really wish I could kiss you right now." He half laughs, embarrassed that, after everything they have just done, the one thing he needs is the intimacy of a simple kiss. "God, I sound like a girl. I just, uhm, I really hope we get to do that for real sometime. I want to feel you deep inside me when I come - I fantasise about how good it will be."

Carlisle is floored. Now that his arousal has somewhat abated, he struggles for an appropriate response.

"I can't promise anything, I..."

Edward hears the apprehensiveness in his voice and doesn't fully understand why. He fervently hopes that they can spend some time together and then perhaps Carlisle will let him into his world. He so badly wants to get close to him.

"I have some holiday time due and I thought that I could maybe drive to you. I mean, only if you want me to, of course. It's not like I know where to find you; New York's pretty big."

Carlisle flounders. Their time together had been on neutral ground, in an impersonal (albeit very comfortable) hotel room. Let Edward into his home, his private space? The thought alone is enough to cause panic in his brain. It's too intimate, too private.

_It's too much too soon._

Then it hits him.

_You could go to him._

Before he can change his mind, he haltingly asks the question.

"Could I stay with you?"

Edward is surprised.

"Don't you have to work? I have time off so I can easily-"

"No... No. I can research anywhere, and besides – my deadline isn't for months yet." He stumbles over his words, feeling awkward and nervous.

_Please understand. It's too soon for me to let you into my world._

"Then okay! When are you free? I can arrange some cover as soon as I know dates."

Carlisle knows his diary is empty for he has no friends or family to occupy his time. He just needs time to psych himself up to making another trip out of New York.

_But just think of what's waiting for you._

He takes a calming breath and surprises himself.

"I could book a flight for next week if that's acceptable? I can call you with the details once I have them. Does that give you enough time to make your arrangements?"

He could hear the smile in Edward's voice, his happiness evident.

"Leave it to me." His voice drops to a rough whisper. "And then I get to claim my kiss. I can't wait to see you again, Carlisle. You're all I've thought about."

Carlisle exhales slowly; hearing his own thoughts mirrored back at him is making him lightheaded. The impossible urge to reach out and touch Edward's face sends a wave of longing crashing over him.

"I'll call you when I have dates, I promise. Now go get cleaned up and get some sleep."

Edward yawns hugely down the phone, his voice drowsy.

"Just... don't leave it too long, okay? You don't need a reason to call me. I just want us to get to know each other."

_You might regret that. _

Shame engulfs Carlisle once again as he thinks of how he will likely disappoint Edward. This is all happening so fast and he feels as if he is rushing headlong into the dark with no idea of what lies within. For someone like Carlisle who needs order and control in his life, this trip into the unknown will be an epic undertaking.

He resolves not to think about it.

~o.O.o~


	4. Chapter 4

Yes, I'm back after an unexpected hiatus of some months for which I can only apologise. I sincerely hope that it doesn't happen again as these past months have been some of the most frustrating and stressful months of my life and I can only hope they are behind me now.

Thanks go to all my wonderful, supportive FB friends who have nudged me along the road to writing again, and special thanks go to my beta mxpi1970 for not giving up on me.

As always, I own nothing. Stephenie Meyer owns all.

* * *

><p><strong>All I Want to Hear<strong>

**Chapter 4**

Carlisle stumbles through the days leading up to the return trip.

When they speak on the phone his spirit sings and his body hardens. The power that Edward's voice holds over Carlisle is absolute and his body responds without question, the soft tones filling his ears and spilling over, caressing his skin like warm silk.

Once the plane tickets are booked it all becomes real; terror rides shotgun with his yearning to see Edward again.

The appointed day dawns, too fast, and Carlisle once again finds himself facing the short, nerve-jangling journey from his anonymous safe haven to Maine. During the flight his thoughts wander, both to comfort and distract him from the reality of what is happening. He sees Edward's eyes, the miracle of desire alight within a sea of deepest emerald, and knows he would sooner die then never gaze into them again.

When the plane begins its descent into Maine, Carlisle's numb soul stirs and awakens, heeding the unspoken call of the one it is meant for.

~o.O.o~

Edward shifts from foot to foot, eyes fixed on the arrivals gate. Others around him smile at his obvious anticipation, perhaps for a girlfriend or long lost brother. When he appears, blond hair bright against his coat collar, Edward is seized with indecision, needing to run to him, to embrace him, to finally feel him in his arms again. What stops him is the knowledge of how Carlisle would react, the discomfort and awkwardness that it would generate. Instead he moves into plain view and waits to be noticed, waits for that first glance that will tell him what he needs to know.

Their eyes find each other and for a moment Carlisle falters in his tracks, caught between the urge to look away and the need to rush into welcoming arms. Edward's face is shining with happiness, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright; hypnotised, Carlisle walks toward him, his heart hammering, caught in the snare of Edward's gaze.

The onlookers see the reaction in Edward, his body tensing and shaking with unwanted adrenalin, and in that moment they think they understand. Carlisle stops, adjusting the bags over his shoulder; neither speaks until Edward breaks the impasse.

"I can't believe you're here."

For a moment, Carlisle cannot answer, cannot find the appropriate response. His hand rises and, unbidden, his fingers trace Edward's heated cheek. He whispers two simple words.

"So beautiful."

Edward's eyes drift closed for the brief caress, and the audience finally have their answer. Some smile, others look away, the majority respectfully averting their eyes from this private, much anticipated, moment of reunion. The shift in the air can be felt by all those around them – their restraint almost an affront to the powerful erotic charge they are generating. When they turn to leave the airport, a few members of the public watch them leave, hearts pounding, their own lives now seeming somehow lacking by comparison.

~o.O.o~

In the cab the air is tense, yet expectant. They are again as strangers despite their intense interaction over the telephone. Their bodies yearn to rediscover anew the power of their bond, but until they are alone there can be no further contact. Carlisle has withdrawn back into his shell, his detached mask back in place as they travel the busy streets. They don't talk despite their proximity, and although their hands lie, almost touching, on the seat, neither moves to close the space. For Edward, Carlisle's very presence is a rush and he cannot stop looking at him as a dying man in the desert would gaze upon a mirage of water.

Edward feels the heat radiating from Carlisle's body in the enclosed space. His throat is dry and he has the random thought that he should have bought a soda at the airport. Looking out of the window at the quiet day going about its business, he sees Carlisle's head reflected in the glass, turning now to gaze at him; he bites back a smile.

Carlisle fights the urge to make dismissive small talk during the short journey, the space between them instead filled with pregnant silence. He wants to tell Edward how much he has longed for this day, how much it means to him, but the thought of talking openly in a public place where they could be overheard engulfs him in fear. When Edward looks away, Carlisle admires the strong line of his jaw, the sweep of his eyelashes and the jut of his full, welcoming lips. The desire to make flesh the fantasies they have played out over the phone means their bodies both yearn for the heat of contact, the pleasurable burn when nerve endings sing with welcome arousal.

The cab pulls up at the kerb outside Edward's modest home, and he settles the fare before climbing out, carrying one of Carlisle's bags. When Carlisle joins him on the pavement, the cab pulls away and they are finally alone. Fumbling with his key, Edward opens the door and makes a clumsy entrance, bumping Carlisle's bag against the door frame. He stutters an apology, aware of the irony in the inelegant entrance, and leads Carlisle to his cosy living room. With the door closed behind them and the real world locked outside, both take deep breaths, silence hanging heavy in the air; neither has spoken since the airport.

Edward's eyes are that of a newborn seeing for the first time, the vision before him almost too beautiful to look at directly. To Carlisle, Edward is perfect, every nuance of his face an indelible image burned into his memory. He wonders what he would have done if this second meeting were a disappointment, if the chemistry had been all in their minds, fading with that fateful sunrise. To his immense joy, no doubt remains now. His eyes linger on Edward's lips, before slipping down to his fingers, his mind conjuring images of those same slender digits caressing and arousing his own flesh to Carlisle's commands, obeying without question. His quiet, involuntary gasp is loud above the sound of his own blood pumping through his head.

Edward's eyes darken in response, echoing his wordless imaginings, his voice uneven when he tries to speak.

"Get you a... I mean... can I get you something to drink?"

Carlisle's throat is dry, clicking when he swallows.

"Uh - coffee? Coffee would be good... right ... now..." His words fade into heavy silence.

Neither moves.

"You look so good." Edward's voice is low and unsteady, naked in its honesty.

Carlisle's mental resolve to take this slow, to talk and prepare for this second encounter of theirs, melts away leaving him a helpless victim of the heat flooding his skin. Lust is winning the battle with reason and he watches his hand reach out to cup the other man's cheek, Edward's face a portrait of pained desperation. He finds authority in the act of seduction, the need to make this beautiful man his once again, to claim him body and soul. Edward is shaking and no other words are uttered, strained gasps the only communication between them until Edward can hold back no longer.

"Please, Carlisle..."

The last shred of self control within Carlisle snaps. He looks into eyes full of hunger, seeing the beauty of the universe in their green depths, and pulls him close with a moan of anguished desire. Lips meet, so tentative at first, finding joy in the rediscovery of shape and fullness, the pleasurable sensation of warmth and pressure. When their tongues touch, heat coils and undulates before igniting into a white hot frenzy, hands burying into hair as each strives to mould their form to the other, to close any infinitesimal space between them.

When Edward moans, the wanton sound has Carlisle's stomach so knotted with desire that he almost cries out with the pain. This is no hotel room and there are no soft robes or seductive lighting to set the mood, yet the real world once again falls away when they touch, demanding nothing more than simple surrender. Carlisle's free hand meanders down the front of Edward's shirt, grazing his nipple in a provocative movement. Edward jerks, gasping, his mouth falling open in an 'O' of pleasure. A thumb traces lazy circles around the hardened nub sending shivers down Edward's spine when it ghosts over the peak. When teeth graze the tender spot beneath his ear, Edward's head falls back, offering himself to his tormentor, his willing body begging for more of the same. A warm mouth sucks at his soft skin, a tongue flickers along his earlobe before infiltrating the delicate shell - the feel of hot breath caressing damp skin sends waves of deep shudders through him that threaten to burn away his skin from the inside.

The noise is jarring, dragging both men from their oblivious trance.

When Edward manages to focus, he realises the phone is ringing. Swallowing hard to regain some modicum of control, his hand almost drops the phone before pressing 'accept'. The number is the hotel, and not one he is permitted to ignore. He deals with the issue, tells the staff the necessary arrangements to be made to manage the day shift, and disconnects the call.

"I'm sorry – they know I'm on vacation, but it was important..." The words hang in the air between them.

They look at each other, their desire still apparent although the intense heat from seconds before has now dampened. Edward's head is spinning, the blood coursing through him making him light headed and unsteady. Carlisle's hand reaches out and takes his, offering the support Edward needs in the moment.

"Have you eaten?"

Edward shakes his head. Carlisle himself has not been able to face food before the flight.

"We should get some lunch." Carlisle leans in and captures Edward's mouth in a brief, lingering kiss that illuminates Edward's face with a delicious pink flush. When he makes no attempt to move, Carlisle tugs at his hand.

"Yes – lunch. Good... good idea." He swallows. "I went grocery shopping and there are several choices we could have."

Carlisle smiles; he enjoys cooking, finding peace and calm in the repetitive action of chopping and stirring. He finds that his writer's mind is able to wrestle with the more pertinent questions with less effort and strain when his conscious mind is distracted. Finding the kitchen, his hand still holding on to Edward, he opens cupboards and extracts the ingredients for spaghetti carbonara. Edward can only watch as Carlisle's deft hands chop and slice, the simple dish ready in minutes. It is all he can do not to interfere, for he has no desire to cause an accident with the sharp knives, but his senses respond to every move of Carlisle's nimble fingers. The heat in the room increases, and Edward knows it's not entirely down to the stove.

They sit and eat, each with a chilled beer by the side of their plate. Each watches the other, but conversation is stilted, each too lost in their own thoughts, unsure of what to say. Carlisle remembers the last time they were together, how they had opened up to each other as their bodies calmed, able to discuss what was on their minds. That level of trust and intimacy only came with relaxation and right now he is too tense, too... expectant.

Edward feels awkward, somehow wishing he could cut through the invisible wall between them and talk to the man who had dominated his thoughts, both waking and dreaming. He knows that it is possible; he hopes they can build a relationship once a comfortable intimacy has been established that can be maintained outside the bedroom.

He also knows that this could take some time. Carlisle is a private man and his trust needs to be earned. He has secrets that stand between them, secrets that must be aired before they can move forward.

Edward can wait, for he believes with all his heart that he will get everything he dreams of. Patience is the key.

Carlisle is first to break the silence, laying his cutlery down on his plate, his meal finished.

"That was pretty good. At least we both had the garlic..."

He half laughs in his nervous state. To occupy his hands more than anything else, he swigs his beer, fingers toying with the label on the bottle.

Edward does the same, washing down the last of his spaghetti with a generous amount of beer. Silence descends once again; Carlisle rises and clears the dishes. Standing in the tiny, sunlit kitchen, he takes a shaky breath and starts to fill the sink with hot water.

"Leave them – they aren't going anywhere."

He turns to differ, to say that it's just the work of a moment to clean up, and sees Edward in the doorway, a wry smile on his lips. Unsure of how to verbalise his thoughts, he straightens, and Edward moves in, leaning around Carlisle to turn off the faucet. Their bodies brush together and the air stills as if holding its breath. A hand rests on his forearm and heat scorches his skin through the fabric. Carlisle's eyes close, his fingers gripping the sink.

"Let's go sit down and talk, okay?"

Edward's words are questioning and Carlisle hears the hesitation and... Was it nervousness? Carlisle follows him into the lounge room and allows himself to be pulled down into an old, well padded sofa. Looking around he sees a subdued colour palette of blues and deep purples, creating a warm and safe feel. He still feels somewhat uncertain in Edward's home; unfamiliarity his old enemy until Edward leans against him sending comfort messages to his panicked brain. Touching Edward's soft locks, he allows his fingers to take a leisurely tour while his eyes feast on Edward's, finding his centre, his ground zero. Right here, right now, Edward is his anchor to this place, allowing his soul to breathe without fear.

His heart exalts in the wonderful inevitability of this moment, the two of them alone with all the time in the world stretching ahead, blank pages on which to write their story. His fingers caress the sharp jaw line, the taut neck that strains upward, and he allows himself a breath to admire the beauty offered to him. Lust-darkened soulful eyes, framed by lush, black lashes hold him in thrall until soft lips part in silent invitation. His head dips to taste them, to feel their warmth and reassurance, and Edward's hand captures his face, holding him close.

Carlisle shifts and they slide back against the cushions, locked together in passion. Edward is so overjoyed to be in his lover's arms that he almost doesn't notice the hint of reticence in the embrace. Breaking the kiss, his lips remain only a whisper away and he can still feel their heat.

"What is it?"

Carlisle struggles to find words to explain his discomfort. He wants nothing more than to make Edward his, to claim him as they have both fantasised, but daylight is so open, so public without the anonymous blanket of night to envelop them in its embrace. How can he explain that he wishes the room could become that intimate hotel room, bringing with it the anonymity to let himself be what Edward deserves? Indeed, he barely understands it himself.

Meeting his concerned gaze, Carlisle tries to enunciate his need.

"Could we close the drapes?"

Edward looks confused for a moment.

"No one can see us, I promise."

"It's not that. I just want... I just need this to be about us, just us. I don't need to see the world outside."

He shakes his head, disgusted with himself for breaking the moment, yet is relieved when Edward climbs off the sofa and pulls the drapes, shutting out the afternoon sun and muffling the noise from the street. For a long moment Edward watches Carlisle before sliding down the cushions until his face hovers over his lover's. In a whisper, soft as feathers, he murmurs:

"You're safe here with me, I won't let anyone hurt you. Trust me."

His lips seek out Carlisle's then, claiming them, his hands burying themselves in thick blond hair to hold him close. For Carlisle, it is all he can do not to choke on the lump in his throat at Edward's impassioned declaration.

They lie together, kissing and touching, revelling in rediscovery. There is no need to rush for now they have time to spare; this time both will be spared the pain of separation once the carnal act is over. When the sun rises they will wake together, able to talk and eat breakfast, and maybe return to the land of pleasure once again until they are too drunk on each other to move.

When Edward sits back on his heels, he holds out his hand and watches Carlisle lace their fingers together. The words Carlisle so badly wanted to hear finally fall from Edward's swollen lips, his velvety voice husky with arousal.

"Come to bed with me?"

His own voice shakes.

"Yes; God, yes."

~o.O.o~

Edward takes the lead, closing the door once they are both inside his bedroom. Releasing Carlisle's hand, he closes the heavier drapes in the small room, necessary for him to be able to sleep during the day. In an instant the room is darker, intimate, and Carlisle feels his worries melt away; his gaze fixates on Edward's every move. He watches him as he bends down to open a drawer, the movement slow and deliberate, presenting himself to his lover. Finding the lube and condoms, he closes the drawer in a quiet, smooth motion, turning back to face Carlisle.

"I'm all yours, however you want me."

Carlisle steps forward, his body remembering this, this phenomenal craving for Edward.

"I need to see you. All of you."

Edward inhales sharply, feeling his heart speed up. His fingers find buttons and zippers, clumsy and slow in their haste to please. Without inhibition, he sheds his clothing, baring himself to the object of his desires. When he stands in only underwear, an obscene bulge straining the fabric, Carlisle almost loses his mind. Reaching out, Carlisle's hands stroke smooth shoulders and firm muscular arms before skating across his chest, watching the flesh quiver and jump under his fingers. When they dip lower, teasing the skin above the elastic band of his underwear, Edward moans, a powerful sound that ignites Carlisle's lust into a roaring inferno.

Pulling off his shirt, he throws it to the floor, almost tearing his pants in his haste to get out of the constricting clothing. His underwear joins the rest in a heartbeat, enabling Edward to feast his eyes on what his own body desires. Before he can ask, before he can beg for Carlisle to take him now, please now, Carlisle falls to his knees before him, stroking his hardness through the dampened fabric. He watches for a moment until nimble fingers bare his aching flesh to the air; when a warm mouth captures the swollen head his eyes drift closed. The gentle, teasing suction is heavenly, as is the warm hand cupping and squeezing his tight globes, sending waves of perfect pleasure through his body. His legs begin to tremble and Carlisle looks up at Edward's face, a magnificent masterpiece of desire. Rising to his feet, he captures Edward's bitten lips in a searing kiss and together they fall onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs. When they part for air, Edward's words send the blood coursing through Carlisle's veins.

"I can't wait any longer. I need you; make me yours, Carlisle."

Darkened eyes plead with him and he nuzzles Edward's throat before answering.

"Let me see."

Edward's breath catches and he rolls over, pushing his firm cheeks upward to display himself. Carlisle's hands stroke the smooth mounds surrounding the most delicate pale pink furl he could have imagined. He leans in and touches the tip of his tongue to the centre, hearing Edward's mewl of pleasure; after that he begins working on that tight entrance. His tongue flickers and dances until he breaches the muscle and slips inside. The low drawn out moan he hears drives his own body to fever pitch.

Carlisle reaches for the condom lying ready on the table and smoothes it down his length before adding generous amounts of lube. His slippery fingers now replace his talented tongue, and Edward is pushing back in encouragement, gasping and moaning at each gentle entry. When Carlisle is certain he is readied, he withdraws his fingers, smoothing the pads reverently around the loosened rose. His voice is unsteady.

"Our first time can't be like this; I have to see you."

Edward shuffles until he is on his back, looking up at Carlisle. He spreads his legs in an open invitation, his skin flushed with arousal, and waits for the moment he has dreamed of. When Carlisle prepares to mount him, he holds Edward's legs wide, pressing into the willing flesh so ready to receive him. Eyes locked, he slides into Edward's welcoming warmth and sees the flush of pleasure bloom under his skin. To Carlisle's joy, Edward's tight body takes him without difficulty.

"Incredible." He can't contain the awe in his voice as he gazes into green pools clouded with pleasure. "Are you ready for more?"

"Go slow; you're a little bigger than what I'm used to."

Carlisle feels the blood leave his face.

"You've been seeing someone?"

Edward sees the panic and realises too late his mistake. He shakes his head and strokes Carlisle's anguished face, his voice cracking.

"No, no! I-I wanted to be ready for you so after that first phone call I bought myself a toy. I couldn't bear it if I was a disappointment to you – I wanted it to be perfect."

The breath leaves Carlisle in a heavy sigh and he begins to realise just how much Edward has come to mean to him in such a short time.

"I'm so sorry. I-I..."

"Carlisle, I'm yours. Only yours. There's no one else." He leans forward and caresses down the defined musculature to where they are joined. "Show me you want me too."

What follows is a melody of gasps and moans, interspersed with drugging kisses and pleas of 'more', 'harder' and 'please'; the sounds of their pleasure rising in volume, enveloping them in a magical space where only they two can co exist in endless pleasure. Edward's hand strays to his straining flesh and Carlisle sees the tortured intensity of approaching ecstasy on that beautiful face, knowing that he alone holds the key. Edward's body is on the cusp, barely hanging on, waiting, just waiting... and Carlisle has but to dip his head to give him what he needs, what his pleasure overloaded body craves. Leaning in, he mouths and bites a swollen nub and a wail of joy bursts from Edward's throat, his body convulsing, his pleasure erupting from him with a helpless cry of adulation.

His tightening, spasming body grips Carlisle in a velvet vice and with a muted cry he fills Edward with his tribute, his body exploding over and over until he has nothing more to give.

He collapses alongside him, groggy and sated from their emotional coupling. Edward's arm lies across his chest, his face nuzzling contentedly into Carlisle's neck. He feels total peace, the dark restless shadows chased from his eyes by the magic of Edward's touch.

But he knows that they will doubtless return; this peace may be short lived.


	5. Chapter 5

Loved the reviews to chapter 4 - you're all so lovely!

Chapter 6 is underway - here's hoping my muse stays close by!

Thanks to mxpi1970 for the beta. As always, I own nothing. Stephenie Meyer owns all.

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><p><strong>All I Want to Hear<strong>

**Chapter 5**

They lie together, dozing, relaxed and uninhibited. Hands stroke back and forth, caressing without thought or intention, just the simple reassurance of skin on skin that both have craved for so long. Edward's fingers roam Carlisle's stomach, leaving trails of heat in their wake. His face rests against his chest, the steady thump of Carlisle's heart vibrating through his ear.

"I'm afraid to stop touching you in case you disappear."

He looks up, hesitant of what he might see in his lover's eyes, his own face open like a child's. Carlisle's hand is in his hair, the soft stroking motion sending shivers of delight down his spine.

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise. Not today."

Carlisle can't _not_ touch Edward. Looking into his trusting face, he sees heartfelt honesty tinged with fear etched into his expression. His gaze takes in Edward's flushed cheeks, his reddened lips, and hunger stirs just below the surface, ready to reawaken. The feeling is so unfamiliar but he is struck by how right it feels to be in Edward's arms; Edward is his gravity holding him to this place, grounding him, giving his life form and purpose.

Right now, New York seems a lifetime ago...

~o.O.o~

Carlisle's agoraphobia, although he refuses to acknowledge it as such, has worsened during his time of self imposed incarceration. His fear means he only feels safe within his own space, panic setting in when he is away from home too long. When forced to travel he has a need to find a safe haven; the Dragonfly served that purpose to perfection. To add to his worries, he has yet to confess to Edward that he isn't openly gay and he fears how his lover will react to this news. Although Carlisle doesn't class himself as in the closet, it is a fact that he lives, in his own way, closeted from the world around him.

~o.O.o~

"What time is it?"

Edward's sleepy question nudges Carlisle out of his own head and back into the room. He realises his hand is still enmeshed in Edward's hair.

"Around 7pm I think. We've been lying here a good while."

He smiles, content to stay there for hours more when Edward snuggles in tighter to his body, a warm arm resting across his ribs. However, the sound of a complaining stomach raises a groan from his prone form.

"I think we burned off the pasta a while back. My body needs fuel if I'm to be any use to you later this evening."

Carlisle bites his lip, a grin spreading across his face at the promise of later. It looks as though they have matching appetites in more ways than one.

With a groan of exertion, Edward pushes himself up the bed.

"Come on, let's go out and get something."

He claims a kiss, his body lying atop Carlisle; the kiss is short lest it lead to more before they can bring themselves to leave the warm nest they have created. Carlisle nuzzles his nose.

"We have to get dressed? Where's room service when you need it?"

Edward adopts a serious expression, his voice velvety smooth, that of the consummate professional.

"Mr Cullen, I was under the impression you were very happy with the service you received this afternoon and would be interested in ordering more of the same for later this evening. Was I mistaken?"

He tilts his head, one eyebrow raised in challenge. Carlisle snakes both arms around him, rolling him onto the cold side of the bed. Edward yelps in shock before dissolving into joyous laughter, his body shaking beneath the warmth of Carlisle's body.

"Okay! Okay! We can stay in, but I need to eat. Come on, let's get to the kitchen. The sooner we eat the sooner we..."

Carlisle cuts off his words with a kiss that promises more.

"Kitchen. Now."

After reassessing the contents of the refrigerator, they decide on their meal and prepare it together, the pair of them clad only in bathrobes to protect them from the sizzling skillet. Cooking becomes an intimate act, something to share and create together, and so it follows that when the food is ready, the eating of it becomes less formal, more playful. They decide to use chopsticks, Carlisle delighting in feeding morsels of chicken to Edward, kissing away any sauce droplets that escape his lips. Edward is in heaven, loving the attention and knowing that this game of foreplay will continue beyond the meal and back between the rumpled sheets.

~o.O.o~

The sun is setting, the curtains parted to allow dying orange flames to lick the walls, clinging to their last moments of life. Fingers of blazing fire caress their exhausted bodies, entangled, still craving the sanctity of skin on skin.

"I'm going to show you the town tomorrow; I'll take you to some of my favourite haunts."

Edward's face is alight with enthusiasm and happiness. Carlisle exhales in a steady stream, a calming manoeuvre.

"Sounds amazing."

"You'll love the café; the food's great. Kate spoils me – I'm sure I get bigger helpings when she's serving. I think she's trying to fatten me up for winter."

He grins at the memory, his eyes downcast, a little embarrassed at the admission. Carlisle fights for control of his irrational rising panic.

"Does she know? That you're gay, I mean?"

"Oh yeah! She isn't trying to hit on me; she just likes to mother me. It's nice. She cares, you know?"

His face drops a little, his smile so genuine that it hurts Carlisle's heart.

"You miss your mother?"

"I hardly remember her. I miss the concept of a mother, and Kate seems to know that without asking. She made me a cake for my birthday and wouldn't let me pay her. She's so thoughtful."

"She sounds wonderful."

He strokes Edward's arm in a reassuring gesture; his answering smile makes his heart sing.

"So tell me about your mom - is Mrs Cullen proud of her author son?"

"There is no Mrs Cullen."

His voice is sharp, out of character, and Edward backtracks immediately.

"I'm sorry; I remember you saying now that you were on your own. I didn't mean to dredge up painful memories."

"She isn't dead. She just isn't in my life anymore."

"I'm sorry." Unsure of what to do, he kisses Carlisle's neck in an apologetic gesture. "I didn't mean to pry. Forgive me?"

He hopes that one day Carlisle will feel able to trust him. For the moment they are too new, their relationship bonds still forming and easily fractured. Edward must tread carefully.

Carlisle's heart is heavy, his throat blocked with all the words unsaid. It can only be a matter of time before something has to give and he knows he is on borrowed time. This connection they share could soon evaporate like morning mist, leaving him with only memories and self loathing.

"It's okay. I didn't mean to snap. I just can't..." he shakes his head. "Not yet."

He turns his head to kiss his lover, to make amends for his momentary loss of composure, and Edward sees the fear in those cobalt depths, wanting nothing more than to protect him from the world that has hurt him.

~o.O.o~

Determined to leave the house and enjoy a rare chance to see the sun, Edward wakes early and sneaks out of bed to shower and dress. After fixing the coffee, he carries two cups through to his bedroom and takes a moment to simply gaze at the beauty of Carlisle sleeping, his face relaxed, not a care in the world to disturb him. Remembering his insomnia and his penchant for working through the night, he almost checks to see if the laptop is set up in the lounge room, but somehow doubts it; he woke in the same position he fell asleep, his body spooning Carlisle's prone form, his arm draped across his body. Placing a mug down gently onto the nightstand, he strokes the blond hair that lays feathered across his brow and sees him stir, eyes fluttering open. For a beat he looks lost, confused; his expression clears.

"You're up already? Is that coffee?"

Edward smiles, understanding that need for the first cup of the day. Carlisle looks over, sees the cup and reaches for it, taking a grateful sip of the fragrant liquid. Groaning in appreciation, he swallows some more.

"This is excellent coffee." Edward grins, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his own cup in hand. Carlisle looks up. "So other than making me my morning java, why are you dressed and not back in here with me?"

His gaze is curious and not without a degree of wariness.

"The sun is shining and I so rarely get to enjoy it. So I want to show you my town, starting with breakfast at Kate's, like we talked about. You in?"

Carlisle clears his throat, buying himself a couple more precious seconds to compose himself.

"Sure; sounds good."

Edward looks so happy that Carlisle feels guilty for his momentary uneasiness.

"Bathroom's free. See you in a few minutes."

Edward senses Carlisle's hesitance and leaves him to it, giving him the alone time he needs to sort out his thoughts. Shortly afterward, he hears the shower and goes to wait on the sofa, coffee and book in hand. When Carlisle reappears, hair damp, dressed in jeans and a dark blue shirt, he almost forgets to breathe.

Carlisle is dumbfounded at Edward's blatant stare of appreciation and can only watch as Edward stands and steps toward him.

"I'm the luckiest guy in the world. Come on – I want to show Kate I wasn't imagining you."

Stepping out into the bright morning sunshine, Edward squints down the street. It's quiet, the working folk having already left, but the main hustle and bustle has yet to start and the peace is welcoming. They cross and head down the street towards a small grocery store and indoor market. They pass a pharmacy with darkened windows, the sign on the door proclaiming their opening time to be almost an hour from now. A small street, barely wide enough for a car, runs alongside the pharmacy and Carlisle can see a small parking lot behind the store, empty at this hour. What grabs his attention is the old building further along the sidewalk, the shabby sign above the window barely legible due to peeling paint. He slows, seeing the shop front is filled with shelves crammed with books; through the window Carlisle can make out a long narrow store with floor to ceiling shelves. The sign reads 'Munroe's Bookstore', a sign on the window states they also sell antiquarian books. Carlisle's interest is piqued, and Edward notices.

"I love that store; I can get lost for hours. Not that I get the chance often with my shifts. Say – want to go take a look later?"

The bright answering smile settles it.

His hand reaches back for Carlisle's, but he succeeds only in brushing his fingertips over it, the hand withdrawn before he can try any further. Not wanting to acknowledge the incident, Carlisle follows as he is led down a small side street, narrow and empty of pedestrians. It is then he sees the metal sign standing outside, the bright, hand painted lettering spelling out 'Kate's', and follows Edward inside. It is neat, clean and welcoming, the aromas of toast, bacon and pancakes dancing on the air, duelling with the dominant scent of coffee pervading the café.

The place is empty.

An attractive blonde woman appears, a wide smile curving her lips.

"Morning, Edward! Who's your friend?"

Her green eyes flash, taking in Edward's pink cheeks and lopsided smile.

"Kate, I'd like you to meet Carlisle. Carlisle, this is my friend, Kate."

Her smile is mischievous. She looks at Carlisle, head tilted.

"So you do exist! Edward told me he met one of his favourite writers, and I thought he was spinning me a yarn, but here you are. You look good together too. So is this a date? Do I need to use my good china?"

Her laugh rings out and Edward grins with embarrassed pride, not noticing how Carlisle's hands fidget, his grip on the laminated menu turning his knuckles white.

"Can I have the pancakes, Kate, with syrup, and hold the hair ruffling? And yes, this is a date of sorts." He tries to catch Carlisle's eye without success.

She smirks and turns.

"What about you, handsome? What can I get you?"

Carlisle looks up for a fleeting second, uncomfortable under Kate's teasing scrutiny.

"Coffee please and I'll take an order of pancakes too with a side of bacon." The smallest of polite smiles touches his lips and it is enough – for now.

"Sure thing, hon; I'll be back in a flash."

She strides off to the kitchen. Edward, seeing Carlisle's hand resting stiffly on the tabletop, reaches out to stroke his knuckles in reassurance. The hand is pulled away, the movement hasty and hurtful, and Edward's smile falters, his hand sliding away as if stung.

Carlisle swallows hard, unable to look at his lover. His voice drops.

"Not here."

Kate breezes back to their table, two stacks of pancakes and bacon deposited in front of them.

"I'll be back in a jiff with your coffees!"

The door to the kitchen closes behind her and the rattle of crockery can be heard before she returns with two clean cups in one hand, full coffee jug in the other. Filling the cups, she winks at Edward before ruffling his hair. Exasperated, he ducks without success and pulls a face to which Kate simply smiles in that motherly way of hers. It's a battle he can never win.

They eat in uncomfortable silence until Edward can't hold back any longer. His voice is low, modulated, his frustration controlled.

"She wouldn't have seen; she wouldn't have cared if she had. She was just joking around, being friendly. Can I only touch you when we're alone, is that it?"

Leaving the house has broken the spell. Carlisle's relaxed demeanour has dissipated and guilt and shame are eating away at him for his current behaviour, but he can't let go of the fear of discovery, haunting him at every turn. He struggles to eat his breakfast, each mouthful swallowed turning to rocks in his chest. Panic is setting in and he feels crushed at Edward's perceived disappointment in him.

Edward feels stymied, needing Carlisle to be open and proud of who he is, of who they could become. He understands that there are issues to be overcome, but to be denied something so small causes him undeniable pain. In the midst of his confusion, he poses a quiet question that had never crossed his mind until now.

"Are you out?"

Carlisle's hand shakes when he takes a long gulp of coffee, avoiding the question and thereby giving Edward his answer. He toys with his food in silence, an aura of panic rolling off of him even as Edward tries to evoke calm.

"It's okay; I just needed to know..."

Carlisle sucks in a shaky breath, his words contrite.

"I tried once, I thought it would be..." he shakes his head, a minute movement that does not invite discussion, and Edward feels helpless, unable to offer comfort.

"Forget I said anything. We'll talk about this when you're ready."

Carlisle pushes his plate aside, barely touched, and gulps his coffee. Edward finishes his pancakes and wraps the untouched bacon in a paper napkin for later before heading to the counter to pay. When he returns he sees Carlisle draining his cup.

"Better?"

He smiles, the action involuntary whenever he looks into those intoxicating blue eyes. He senses the chaos behind his gaze, feels the confusion emanating from him in that moment, and wants so much to reach out. But being unable to touch him in the physical proximity of others, all he has are his words.

His voice.

He resolves to encourage him in any way he can to vent his troubles. The pain he harbours is a poison, honesty the only antidote.

Not to be deterred, he motions to the street outside.

"Shall we go back?"

He receives an awkward yet grateful smile.

"Can we? But I'd like to see a bit more of your town on the way back."

"You're on."

Shouting farewell to Kate back in the kitchen, they leave the cosy café and walk back out into the warm morning sun.

"I'll take us home a different way to show you the sights."

Before they even reach the river, the fresh smell of the water laces the clean, early morning air. The scene is peaceful, the small pleasure craft boats all moored, waiting for the weekend when their families will once again take to the water. The homes he can see dotted over on the far shore are interspersed with trees, giving the view an idyllic feel. The spire of the local church is visible, built on higher ground.

Watching the sun sparkle on the rippling body of water, everything in Carlisle itches to reach out and take Edward's hand. He aches for the feeling of safety and grounding, the security that being with Edward brings, but when his fingers twitch, on the cusp of reaching out for his warmth and reassurance, he hears voices and his hand stills. He feels frustrated, impotent, alternating between self hatred and yearning. He takes a moment to appreciate Edward's beauty in the soft light, the way his hair shines, the easy relaxed stance, hand by his side so open and inviting. He fights the urge to scrub his eyes with the heel of his hand, feeling the hopelessness of the situation compound the longer he spends in the company of one so beautiful.

Edward holds his position, almost drowning in the desire to wrap an arm around Carlisle's waist, to rest his chin on that wide shoulder and nuzzle into his neck. He knows that such actions would be rebuffed – for now – but he intends to get to the root of the issue, to show Carlisle how incredible the world can be when you embrace it with open arms.

Without fear.

For now, he will not push and risk damaging this delicate bond they are forging. It is enough to know that later that night they will be joined together in a heated meeting of minds and souls, their bodies divulging secrets that their mouths dare not voice.

Carlisle finds he can cope with the unfamiliarity of his surroundings with Edward by his side. Knowing that he can reach out to him if he feels panic is a huge comfort. However, as people start to fill the streets, the hour turning, his chest tightens and his brief confidence ebbs.

Edward sees the change in him and puts a tentative hand on his forearm, the gesture safe and innocuous.

"Enough for today; let's go home."

He leads the way back to his comfortable home, the safe sanctuary that Carlisle craves.

~o.O.o~

"You drink too much coffee."

Edward smiles at Carlisle who sits drinking what is his fourth cup of the day, and it's not yet 10am.

"Is there such a thing?"

He sips more of the scalding brew, his eyes pinched at the corners, tongue burning.

"You should cut down a little; so much caffeine – your nerves would thank you for it. You must get jumpy, being wired all the time."

Carlisle is silent, unable to dispute this. He thrives on it, the jolt necessary to start his day and his mental processes, but he cannot deny that he uses it to avoid facing other issues. This silence worries Edward, concerned he has overstepped the mark.

"Well, I like coffee too but I also like juices and tea. Especially in the morning before I sleep; it helps me wind down." He pauses before plunging on. "But then, you don't sleep much, do you. You told me that. I thought I would've woken last night when you got up."

The statement is met with a beat of silence. Carlisle's throat is tight, the words hard to enunciate.

"I didn't get up."

"But you did wake?"

Edward's face falls, disappointment in the perception that Carlisle had still wanted to leave his bed, leave _him_.

The response when it comes is raw, the words dragged from his throat as if against his will.

"Yes, I woke, I always do, but when I remembered where I was and felt your body against mine, I didn't want to move. Nothing could have made me leave you and I lay there just watching you sleep, so peaceful; at some point I drifted off again. That..." he licks coffee from his lip, just the tip of his tongue, a nervous gesture, "that's unheard of for me, to fall back to sleep. I would normally toss and turn and get up anyway, frustrated and edgy. I think it was your breathing... it soothed me." He looks up then, eyebrows knotted and brow furrowed, praying for understanding. "Being here with you, it-it keeps the demons away." His laugh is humourless, so astonished is he at his own honesty. "There's no other explanation for it."

Edward reaches across the small table and grips his hand, fingers curling around his own in response.

"Now we're getting somewhere."

The smile he receives is genuine, a chink in the armour visible to the naked eye.

They settle in together to read, comfortable and content to just be together. After lunch, despite his best efforts to stay awake, Edward has to nap, his body clock confused by the change in routine. Carlisle uses this time to explore the house, to soak in its charm and disorganised comfort, the very antithesis of his own cool, sterile apartment. The piles of books leaning against the overflowing bookcase are paperback classics, whereas the books on the bookcase are hardbacks in the main, possibly favourites that Edward reads over and over. He remembers seeing a second bookcase in the bedroom and resolves to check that one out in the morning and see what titles live on those shelves. Edward's tastes are diverse, and although the predominant genre to be found is historical, there are also crime and chillers too. Carlisle smiles to himself when he spots an old copy of Winnie the Pooh tucked into the very end of a rack. The flyleaf holds a message from a loving mother to her 5 year old son and an uncharacteristic lump forms in his throat. He replaces the book with all the reverence and respect afforded a precious artefact from Edward's childhood.

For the first time in some years he feels the loss of his family's love.

~o.O.o~

When Edward wakes, Carlisle joins him on the bed and they lay together, quiet, each just gazing at the other. It is Carlisle who breaks the silence, needing to open up, to express in his awkward way how he came to be here at all.

Seeing the phone by the bed sparks a moment of clarity.

"It took me so long to decide to call. I tried so many times and hated myself for hanging up. It was cowardly. To lie here now, remembering the sounds you made for me..." he breathes hard, the words begging to be freed no matter the pain the admission causes him, "it was more than I felt I deserved. You made – no, you _make_ me happy."

Edward's hand traces the face that lives in his heart, feeling a cheek heated by the bloom of apprehensive roses; the gaze he meets reveals a soul both naked and vulnerable.

"I so wanted you here with me, Carlisle. Every day I hoped more and more that you'd call. I just couldn't leave it like that. I needed more of you."

"And now?" His voice is dry and cracked. Edward's hand stills against his cheek.

"I still do. You're an addictive drug; I'm going to need regular fixes." His face takes on a serious edge. "I understand if you want to take this slow. As long as we can still see each other because the thought of _not_ seeing you is ..."

His words stall, but Carlisle understands what is unsaid.

"I know how you feel. This is all so new to me - I hardly know how to do this, what to say. Be patient with me? I don't want to disappoint you."

Edward's face is pinched and he pushes himself up on one elbow to meet Carlisle's anxious eyes, seeing the trepidation therein.

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that. You couldn't disappoint me. Whatever happened to you, whatever you did, I can handle it, or not. I won't push. Just know that you can tell me. You can tell me anything."

Carlisle's response is to pull his lover closer, to place a kiss on his parted lips for reassurance. His reply is heartfelt and ragged.

"I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do."

~o.O.o~


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to the wonderful mxpi1970 for the beta. As always, I own nothing. Stephenie Meyer owns all.**

** The next chapter is underway. **

**And to any Mainers out there: I apologise in advance - I tried with the accent, I really did.**

* * *

><p><strong>All I Want to Hear<strong>

**Chapter 6**

Four days.

Four days was a lifetime to the old Carlisle, to be away from the security of home for so long, to be in a world out of his own control. Now that he has assimilated into this new existence, this shared life, so warm and _right, _for the first time the thought of returning to reality holds its own fears.

The fear of loneliness.

He has yet to unburden himself to Edward, he has yet to find the right time, but that moment is surely approaching – a freight train of honesty bearing down at full speed upon their future time together.

~o.O.o~

The day after their breakfast at Kate's they take a walk to Monroe's bookstore.

There is a bell over the door, that little touch old fashioned and so fitting. The store is lined with shelving, floor to ceiling, a small library stepladder parked at the far wall for the use of the patrons. Edward takes pleasure in watching Carlisle's face, the smile that spreads across it as he takes in the shabby magnificence all around him. The air is filled with the smell of old books, the light musty scent that is the perfume of all literature repositories. The main room leads through to a small ante room, the sign about the entrance proclaiming 'Biographies and History'. The light streaming through the dusty, rain-spotted front window does not reach this small room and a bare overhead bulb lights the space. Beyond it, Carlisle sees an office, the door ajar, a brass plated 'Private' sign screwed into the wood.

Edward smiles and turns to the fiction section, looking to see what new titles have hit the racks, whilst Carlisle heads to the back room, a man on a mission.

It is some time later that Edward resurfaces, a selection of new material in his hands. He hears Carlisle and Monroe talking in low tones and against his better judgement he listens, eager to learn more about his lover, to see deeper within the enigma.

"This heeah is the one I think – it best outlines the erah you are lookin' for..."

"Good generahl background history in this one but have you read..."

"Good choice – what about this for witness testimony..."

Edward hears Carlisle's responses.

"I have that one, but perhaps this..."

"I cannot believe you have this one... been looking for some time..."

"This is amazing... I'll take all of these..."

Edward smiles to himself, not wanting to interrupt them just yet.

"So, I seeah you came with Edward. He's one of my best customahs."

"So I hear. He recommended this place to me."

"I've not seenah you before, although I'll beah the first to admit I don't get out a great deal. Are you new to the arear?"

"I'm staying with Edward for a few days to catch up and do a little research for my next book."

His heart hurts at the throwaway statement. He hears Monroe's exclamation.

"You write? That's wonderful! Would I have a copy of your work heeah?"

Edward can almost hear Carlisle's blush, his response somewhat embarrassed.

"Err... yes, I did see a copy."

"Show me, young man, show me."

There is the sound of a book sliding from its home, the crackling of a dust jacket as it is opened.

"Ah - I've read this. I can see now from the flyleaf photo that you're Mistah Cullen! I rarely get any authors in heeah – they prefah to ordah their books in from suppliahs. May I ask why you don't? Not that I'm at all ungrateful for your custom of course!"

His laugh is dry and rattling, the evidence of a long history of smoking despite the fact he hasn't lit up for some years. His speech is heavily accented, a true Mainer.

Carlisle chats to Monroe, explaining his love for old books and the thrill of discovery in small, independent stores like this one. Edward chooses this moment to reappear, clutching his books; both men smile when they see him. There is a telling light in Carlisle's eyes that he himself is perhaps unaware of, a brightening that is visible to those who know to look for it. Edward's happy smile also speaks volumes and he catches the subtle glance that Monroe gives them, the small nod of understanding, eyes twinkling, his kind, age wrinkled face seeing what stands before him, but passing no comment or judgement.

When they leave, he calls out to them:

"You boys come back soon now!"

~o.O.o~

Their last full day together dawns and Edward suggests a trip to Portland to visit the Museum of Art. He doesn't expect Carlisle to agree, but it plants the idea for another time, for another visit.

They take a walk along the water's edge, talking and laughing, and Carlisle feels freer than he has in years. His heart races whenever he looks at Edward, his hair tousled by the wind, his cheeks pink, and he wishes he were brave enough to pull him in for a kiss. Instead, he reaches out with a question.

"So how did you end up here? You don't have the accent so I know you don't originate from Maine."

Edward is quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Carlisle waits, their footfalls marking time.

"You remember I told you that my mom died when I was young? I was five and it was a car accident. My father couldn't find a way to explain it so he told me that the angels needed her to go with them. I didn't understand and thought she was coming back to get me. I waited each night, expecting her to come or the angels to come collect me too." He sighs, the memory bringing pain despite the time that has passed. "I didn't dare ask my father until a couple of years later. I asked him why the angels hadn't come for me yet to take me to my momma. Only then did he explain that she wasn't ever coming back to me. I never knew the details of what happened – my father never spoke of it. All I know is she's buried back in Washington."

He takes a deep breath and blows it out. Carlisle's heart clenches for the small boy who lost so much.

"I can't imagine how hard that must have been; you were so young. Did your father remarry? Did you have a stepmother?"

He shakes his head.

"No. My father threw himself into his work. I was raised by a succession of nannies. As a teenager, I was closest to our housekeeper, Maria. She was brusque, very strict in fact. She kept me in check, cleaned my clothes and cooked my meals. She scolded me too – a lot." The corner of his mouth twitches in a crooked smile. "We were fond of each other in our way."

"Did you see much of your father?"

"No; he came home late and ate after I had gone to bed. Weekends we sat down together for dinner, but by then it was awkward between us; we had no common ground. I studied hard, Maria saw to that, and did well in school. I didn't have any plans for my future, I was waiting to see what life brought my way, I guess." He eyes remain fixed on the sandy ground and Carlisle knows he isn't done.

"My father was always tired, not sleeping much, his stress levels through the roof as he tried to support us. I asked him what was wrong and he brushed it off. Too busy, he said, no time to rest and eat right. I had no option but to believe him. A couple of days after I had turned 18, Maria caught me in the kitchen after school and told me my father was in the hospital, taken ill suddenly. It turned out his heart..." he stops abruptly before stumbling on. "His heart wasn't working right and he needed surgery. I waited with Maria and when it was over they told us he was critical. It wasn't long afterward that alarms started to go off in his room and they closed the blinds so we couldn't see. A short time later it all fell quiet and the doctor came to see us." He looks to Carlisle then, so much pain on his face at the memory. "They explained everything, their trite words of sympathy sounding hollow, but all I understood was that the angels had taken him to momma and left me all alone. After that, I gathered my things and ran away as far as I could."

Tears glimmer in his eyes and Carlisle reaches for him, folding him into his arms for protection. He marvels that somehow the roles have reversed, and now he must be strong for Edward. Holding him tight, feeling him shudder at the painful recollections, he can't imagine ever letting go.

That night when they make love it is a desperate act of passion. Hands and lips meld together as they both run from their own demons, finding the safety and salvation they have sought for so long in each other's arms. They sleep very little, neither wanting to waste these last hours. This night feels like they are back in The Dragonfly as they lay waiting for dawn, unable to stop touching, stroking, loving each other.

~o.O.o~

And so their brief time together draws to a close.

While he packs, Edward sits on the bed watching and trying to read his thoughts. For Edward, four days have passed in the blink of an eye, his world changed beyond recognition by the presence of this one person in his life. There are issues to address, he knows that, but he knows that he wants to be there when Carlisle is set free from his fears and lays his ghosts to rest.

A tentative part of his mind sees a future with this man, hopes that he may one day feel the same.

His bag packed, Carlisle straightens. Neither speaks; words unable to convey how this parting makes them feel. It is Edward who reaches for him, pulling him in tightly, moulding their bodies into a whole. Arms wrap around waists and shoulders, heat blends into heat as they stand and just listen to the other breathe, drowning men clinging to the rocks lest they get sucked under the waves.

Four days.

How so much has changed for both men in so few hours.

The kiss is possessive and deep, lingering until their lips break apart and their foreheads rest together. They walk downstairs, feet leaden.

All too soon it is time to leave, the taxi waiting. Before opening the door, Carlisle pulls Edward close for one last dizzying farewell kiss. Edward's brief holiday is over and he must return to work the following evening. It does not cross his mind to suggest Carlisle stay longer, that perhaps some time in this welcoming little town might help him deal with his past. He doesn't know that Carlisle would rather stay here, spending his days writing while Edward sleeps, rather than return to his austere existence.

How can he know? Carlisle has not admitted as much to himself, much less vocalised it.

They find themselves in the airport waiting for his flight to be called. The same edgy feelings fill the air around them, neither sure how to say goodbye, adieu, until we meet again. The urge to kiss him in front of everyone is so strong for Edward that every breath hurts his chest. Their last kiss at his front door seems too long ago. When the time comes to part, the air between them is brittle, the cracks showing in Edward's restraint. After one last painful goodbye, Carlisle turns to leave and it is then that Edward breaks. Reaching out, he catches his hand, squeezing it tight, the wordless exchange speaking volumes when their eyes catch and hold. There is no reprimand, only a lingering look back before their hands slide free and they are again two entities in separate worlds.

Alone.

Staying until his lover disappears from sight, Edward heads for home, his step heavier than before. The taxi drops him off and he pays the driver, distracted, his smile a muted imitation of the genuine article. Once inside, he heads for the kitchen. Emptying his pockets, he finds his cell and, smiling like a fool, sends a message for Carlisle to find when he lands.

***Let's do this again soon?***

~o.O.o~

He heads back out, bound for the grocery store, but instead his feet find their way to Kate's. Finding an empty table, he orders a coffee and waits for his friend.

The lunch rush is over, patrons finishing up leaving a few folks sipping lattes and munching cake, shopping bags at their feet. When Kate appears with his coffee, she spots him and heads over, beaming.

"Hello, sweetheart; on your own today?"

"Yeah; back to work tomorrow night. This was a short first visit to see how things went, you know?"

He sighs, an unintentional gesture, but one not missed by Kate. She pulls out the empty chair and perches on the edge, her hand, warm and comforting, covering his empty one.

"What is it? You seem troubled."

He shakes his head, more to clear it than to deny the statement.

"These last few days have been amazing. I just wish..."

"What? What do you wish?" Her face is anxious; concerned for the boy of whom she is so fond.

Edward's voice is low, confidential, and he feels traitorous even uttering the words, but the truth is he trusts Kate. She alone has been there for him, offering friendship and asking nothing in return.

"He isn't out and I don't know why yet. There's something holding him back, something in his past. I don't want it to come between us."

Kate looks on with a steady, non-judgemental gaze.

"I guessed something was up. New relationships usually mean smiles and hand holding, little touches that speak louder than words. He seemed reserved to me, a little distant. Is he always that way?"

"Not when we're alone." He flushes a little, despite his concerns.

"Say no more." She pats his hand. "Is he worth the wait until he decides to go public, that's if he ever feels ready?"

Edward flinches, the idea having not occurred to him.

"You think he might never be ready? He asked me to be patient."

"Are you seeing him again? Any firm plans?" He can hear the concern in her tone and in the gentle squeeze of her fingers.

"Nothing concrete, but yeah, I hope soon. I have his address and cell number which is a big step forward for him." He looks up, begging her to understand. "He's gotten under my skin, Kate. I'd do anything to keep him in my life."

"Then I guess you have the answer right there. I hope it works out how you want, Edward; I hope he doesn't disappoint you."

The echoing of Carlisle's words causes his shoulders to straighten.

"He won't."

~o.O.o~

The plane lands and Carlisle makes his way through the crowds and outside into the afternoon air. Hailing a cab, he watches the traffic, heavy and slow at this hour, and compares it to the quieter pace of the sleepy Maine town by the sea. For him, the visit has been at times wonderful, awkward, tense and loving.

He has learned much about himself.

In the cab his phone bleeps and he checks his messages. The only one that matters is from Edward and re reads the brief message over and over, feeling the hope in the words. Letting himself inside his apartment, the cold, clinical space feels alien after spending time in Edward's warm, cluttered home, so welcoming to him. He is wrong footed, this safe space no longer offering the comfort and security he is used to. Dropping his bags, he stands for a moment trying to imagine Edward here, his belongings on the shelves, his jacket on the chair, and finds the images do not mesh in his mind. Try as he might, he cannot see Edward in these austere surroundings and his life here seems so very bleak. Gazing out of the tall window, New York seems colder, more impersonal than ever. He chose to live here for that very reason, the ability to hide here in plain sight surrounded by thousands of blank faces. But now – now he finds it a lost world and feels more alone than he thought possible.

With a sigh, he sets to unpacking.

~o.O.o~

Despite his cold, formal surroundings, the trip has energised Carlisle and he is inspired, writing a large portion of his new book, his mind open and unencumbered. His sleep has improved, but this only reminds him when he wakes that Edward is not there sleeping alongside him. He wonders how it is possible to miss someone so much after only four days together, his life irrevocably changed by the warmth and affection that Edward exudes. He is so comfortable in his own skin, in his world and Carlisle is envious of that – that freedom of spirit. Edward is at peace with himself, something that Carlisle longs to be.

He smiles to himself.

_Perhaps the answer is prolonged exposure to Edward._

He likes that idea very much.

They establish a routine, talking on the phone most days, usually around midday before Edward sleeps. If it's Edward's turn to call and exhaustion claims him before he can dial, then Carlisle has an anxious wait until he receives an apologetic text later that evening. It is only then he can relax, knowing everything is okay and his lover is safe and well.

The inspiration deteriorates as the high of spending time with Edward wanes, reality bleeding back, his fantasies no longer sufficient to maintain his writing equilibrium. Need grows within him, gnawing at his stomach. Edward's eyes, those mesmerising pools of green, haunt his dreams, promising so much that he wakes anticipating a warm body lying over him, alert and readied. The shock of pain he feels each time reality denies him drives him back to his workaholic ways, sleeping in short bursts to avoid deep sleep. He runs from his dreams and desires, hiding from what he craves.

Carlisle's fear of the truth is causing his confidence to atrophy, tarnishing any hope he has for a happy, contented future. He wants Edward, so very much; indeed his desire for him borders on the insatiable. He cannot see a way forward to balance his life and keep his ugly secret away from the light of day. The shame he felt then would surely return if the story were retold, and he fears seeing the light of desire fade to nothingness in Edward's eyes, replaced by judgement and disgust. His heart is in turmoil; he believes that the relationship should be based on truth, but fears losing all he has found because of it. It feels so much harder now that Edward has opened his heart to him.

Does he risk what he has in order to gain everything he has dreamed of? For Carlisle, the idea of having something to lose is a foreign concept.

~o.O.o~

Edward's days are unchanging, work and sleep his usual pattern, the only light in his days provided by the emails and calls he exchanges with Carlisle. When they don't speak for a day his waking hours are a bland grey, no bright beacon to eclipse the shadows of daily routine. The phone calls are his secret pleasure, what every day leads up to, the chance to have Carlisle say goodnight to him. It doesn't warm the bed, but his heart is light after they talk, their conversations intimate, trusting, their connection deepening.

A month passes, and to each man it feels like six, time dragging its heels yet passing in the blink of an eye on the calendar. Neither has yet spoken of the next visit, each afraid of seeming over eager and clinging, but the reality is that four short days have made such a difference to two ordered, structured lives which can never be undone.

For Carlisle, the walls of his safe haven, his private place, are closing in and he paces at night, chest tight, at times on the edge of panic. One dark night he wakes, rain hammering on the windows, the clock telling him he has slept for a mere two hours despite the relaxation his hand had provided earlier; the fantasy dancing across his mind of a willing Edward had fuelled a climax of some considerable force. He sighs, his feet landing on the rug before stepping through into the shower cubicle to rinse away the evidence of his earlier pleasure. His body is unrepentant, hardening when soapy fingers graze his nipples, his mind hearing Edward's moans of joy. With an agonised sob, his hand grasps his hardened flesh, swiftly finding his release, his knees buckling at the mental picture of Edward lying before him, eyes darkened, his knees raised.

The craving is so strong, the draw to him undeniable, irrefutable.

He knows what he has to do. He towels himself dry and heads for his laptop.

~o.O.o~

That same night Edward checks his cell during his break – no emails. He doesn't expect any during the night, indeed he would rather Carlisle sleep, but he checks for reassurance. He has their phone call to look forward to when he gets home, the sound of his voice washing away the stresses of his shift, his problems backing away until shrouded in shadow, running in fear from the happiness their contact brings. He smiles, sips his coffee and makes plans that have no grounding in reality, at least not yet, but which vie for his attention when he dreams.

It is crazy to want so much and to expect another person to want it too, but he is sure that at some point in the future, let the cards fall where they may, that he and Carlisle will be together. He can wait. He is used to waiting for things to come his way, making plans. This is the first time that those plans have involved a person, a person so perfect for him that it must be written somewhere that a young boy all alone in the world would grow up to meet another. He trusts his belief in fate; it hasn't led him wrong yet. Checking his watch, he drains his cooling coffee and heads back to the desk, an irrepressible smile tugging at his lips. One day those two lonely boys-to-men would be happy together.

One day.

~o.O.o~

Arriving home that morning, he heads to the kitchen to make his supper. The weather is miserable, the rain having tailed off to a dull drizzle, and the kitchen is dark despite the hour. He heats up his pre prepared meal and eats it in front of the TV, catching a rerun of a favourite comedy show. When the credits roll he takes his plate to the sink and rinses it off, running a mental list of the chores he needs to complete in the short hours ahead.

By the time the laundry is done, dried and folded, the linen changed on the bed and the entire place vacuumed, midday is approaching and he is ready for bed, to wait for Carlisle to call to wish him goodnight and maybe torment him in delicious ways, ensuring some very sweet dreams.

When the phone stays silent he is both worried and disappointed. Checking the clock, he resolves to give him another 30 minutes before getting some sleep.

The doorbell is loud and he drags himself from the warm bed and heads downstairs, knotting his robe. Opening the door he is expecting a deliveryman or some other door to door annoyance and is not at all prepared for the sight before him. Carlisle's hair is wet from the rain; he stands hunched, his bag over his shoulder. He looks nervous.

"Is this okay?"

Edward is both stunned and overjoyed. All thoughts of sleep forgotten, he brings him inside before kissing him long and hot, his exuberant greeting betraying his happiness. Breathless, he pulls back just a fraction, choking out the words.

"This is very, very okay."

~o.O.o~


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks to my beta, mxpi1970, for her patience and support. **

**As always, I own nothing. Stephenie Meyer owns all. More to come as soon as I can.**

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><p><strong>All I Want to Hear<strong>

**Chapter 7**

When they stop for breath, Carlisle encourages Edward to rest before his shift begins. It is with the utmost reluctance that Edward agrees, but not until he claims another kiss, needing the reassurance of Carlisle's presence, the feel of his lips, his hair between his fingers. Not wanting to let go for a second, Carlisle's words are muffled against his lover's neck.

"I'm so sorry. I meant to call you, but I couldn't from the air. Once I landed I just wanted to get here - to you."

Edward's face glows with happiness.

"I was awake, waiting for you to ring. But this... this is _so_ much better than a call." He grins before glancing at the clock. "I don't know how I'm going to sleep now."

Carlisle strokes his face, taking pleasure in relearning how Edward's eyelashes brush his cheeks when his eyes drift closed, his face flushed from their enthusiastic kisses.

"Come on, we can talk in the morning when you get home."

He leads Edward upstairs to bed, intending to settle him and then make himself a coffee before starting his own work. However, Edward pulls him down into an embrace, snuggling against his chest.

"Stay here? Just 'til I fall asleep?"

Carlisle acquiesces, the insomniac within relaxing now that he is where he wants to be. He shucks his jeans and stretches out, holding Edward close. Within a few short minutes both men are sleeping, without worry or dream, peaceful and calm.

~o.O.o~

Carlisle wakes first, his bearings lost for a moment. His first sensory reminder is the sound of Edward's soft breathing followed by the heat from his skin seeping through his clothes. He smiles and shifts enough to face him, his arm slung across the pillow behind Edward's head to touch his hair. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, he is content to lay there and wait for him to stir. When Edward's eyes flutter open, a smile breaks across his sleepy face, a smile mirrored back at him.

"I didn't dream it – you're here."

"I'm here."

His own voice, rough and low, conveys such emotion that he frowns, a moment of uncertainty colouring his thoughts until Edward responds.

"I'm glad."

With just two words, all uncertainty flees his mind and he touches his lips to Edward's, the very tip of his tongue eliciting a gentle groan when it parts them to flutter a fleeting caress.

Edward's hands are roaming his chest.

"You're wearing too many clothes. We need to sort this out."

"Sort this out do you mean?" Carlisle's hand slips inside Edward's underwear and strokes the eager flesh straining upward, demanding attention. Edward's answering growl is reward enough, his words little more than a rasp.

"I want to touch you."

In the short time it takes for Carlisle to pull his shirt off over his head and kick off his underwear, Edward has thrown his own underwear across the room and begun to explore the warm body freed from its fabric confines. Falling into a deep kiss, their bodies lay flush together, delicious friction found by the smallest undulation of hips. Need increases steadily and legs intertwine, their movements increasing in speed. Kisses become frantic; hands grasp firm buttocks holding their bodies tight together, hips bucking without rhythm, driven by pure sensation. Their breathing escalates, desperate moans escaping in blasts of hot breath, muffled only by the tantalising touch of questing tongues. Their hips are rolling in to each other now, flesh reddened and swollen from both arousal and their close proximity to orgasm. Edward is first, his head lifted from the pillow to meet Carlisle's gaze of open, blatant need when his body erupts between them. For Carlisle, Edward's spasming body and the sight of his release is enough for him to cry out, his own body stiffening before hot splatters land on his flushed chest and stomach, splashing Edward's neck in its force.

Gasping, heaving breaths fill the air. When Edward speaks it is raw and heartfelt.

"I can't explain how much I missed you."

Carlisle can only nod, overwhelmed, his hands stroking and touching.

~o.O.o~

For Carlisle, to be with Edward is to be able to breathe again – to feel the tight bands on his chest loosen and fall away.

Edward has left for work and Carlisle is alone now, showered and dressed in Edward's robe. He drinks his coffee and makes another, sipping the beverage while he reacquaints himself with the apartment. Seeing his book on Edward's shelf, he selects it and sees how thumbed it is, how well read. His heart is full, both of gratitude and wonder at this connection they have forged together. He wanders downstairs, takes out his laptop and settles in to write at Edward's kitchen counter, a coffee cup always within reach. Outside the window the sun slips below the horizon, painting the sky with vibrant fire.

Carlisle writes, inspired and invigorated.

A mere two cups of coffee later, he looks in wonder at the amount he has achieved. His editor may get this book earlier than anticipated. Without checking the clock, he wanders into the lounge and sprawls on the sofa intending to watch a little television until Edward comes home.

He is asleep in moments, his sleep-starved body relaxed and receptive to the idea of rest in this comforting environment.

Edward finds him there when he returns from his shift and smiles at the sight. He shakes his head and mutters to himself:

"I could get used to this."

Carlisle stirs, his eyes opening wide for a second, surprised to see the television screen is dark, the remote lying on the floor beside him.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

The amused voice jolts Carlisle into wakefulness and he jumps, rubbing his eyes. His voice is rough with sleep.

"I sat down for a minute. I was going to watch...something..." He gestures in a vague motion at the television.

"Did you get lots done?"

"Yeah – it was pretty amazing actually. It was as if my mind unlocked and everything came flooding out. It hasn't been like that for a while." His hand gesticulates in the air before he pushes himself upright, his hand scraping through his hair. "How was work?"

"Quiet; we had several guests check out yesterday and the next influx is booked for Monday – there's some conference going on. We're booked out." He drops down into the sofa, his arms snaking around Carlisle. "I was thinking that we go out on a date. What d'you think about a trip to the movies?"

"What's playing?"

"Who cares; I just want an excuse to make out with you in the dark."

"I'll check the listings."

Edward's grin lights up the room.

An hour later they are seated in the back row of an almost empty theatre, an old black and white movie playing. Their lips find each other before the main characters' paths even cross, and they kiss as though the world may end with the rolling credits; a desperation that speaks of burgeoning feelings that neither is yet ready to articulate.

~o.O.o~

On the walk home, Edward poses a question that has been burning in his mind since Carlisle arrived the day before.

"So... how long are you staying here with me?"

He hears the slow intake of breath. Carlisle looks at him under his lashes, his head down.

"How long am I welcome?"

Their smiles are all the answer either needs for now.

_We'll take each day as it comes._

They stop for pizza on the way back; lunch for Carlisle, but dinner for Edward. They eat together on the sofa, the open pizza box on the table beside them.

"Can I ask you something?" Edward's tone is careful, wary of the reaction he might evoke.

Carlisle chews and swallows, his bitten slice held aloft in his stilled hand.

"Okay."

"Okay. Well, when I was fifteen I kissed the gorgeous boy in Math club in a game of truth or dare. When he kissed me back my toes curled and I almost came in my pants. So, my question is: when did _you_ know?"

"I... think I always knew. I didn't want to go after the girls like the other boys did, I just kept to myself."

"You didn't date in high school?"

"No. I was something of a late bloomer. My first kiss was in college."

Edward can sense the embarrassment and awkwardness emanating from his lover. Leaning in, he kisses his warm lips, a thumb caressing the tight line of his jaw.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For sharing."

He bites into his fresh, pepperoni-laden slice and smiles, watching Carlisle process what just happened before he too takes a bite of pizza.

_Baby steps._

~o.O.o~

The clock moves ever forward, and Edward must head off to bed. He goes to clear away the empty pizza box and bottles, but Carlisle stops him.

"Let me do that."

Pulling Edward to him, he kisses him, a soft, lingering goodnight that betrays his longing to join him in that big bed and make him squirm and whimper until the sun goes down.

Edward draws in a sharp breath, his desires travelling down the same road. Somewhat unsteadily, he makes a suggestion.

"You should go out and explore a little; get your bearings around here if you plan on sticking around for a while. I don't want you to sleep every day away just because I have to. It wouldn't hurt for you to try and establish a regular sleeping pattern either; you'll feel energised. In fact, why don't you go out and enjoy the sun this afternoon and then come wake me in some interesting way before my alarm goes off..." His eyebrow arches.

He watches Carlisle smile, sees his face aglow at the thought of later before he sighs in defeat.

"Okay, you win. I don't want to deprive you of your sleep so off you go. I'll be fine. I'll keep busy to take my mind off you up there, all alone..."

Edward kisses him again and pulls away with a grin and a wink, delighted his plan seems to be working. It is a subtle ploy to draw Carlisle out, to show him how to be part of the world again.

_Baby steps._

Heading for the stairs, he looks back at his man, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

"I'll see you tonight then?"

~o.O.o~

Carlisle doesn't go out immediately. Instead he cleans up, one ear on Edward, hearing him wash up and head to bed, the mattress creaking a touch as he wriggles to get comfortable; soon all is silence. Taking the keys from the door, he lets himself out into the afternoon warmth and stands in the street, wondering where he should go. He considers Monroe's and dismisses it for now; that will be his retreat when the weather is inclement. For now he walks toward the water, intent on strolling and people watching while keeping a safe distance.

He walks the path that he and Edward had followed before and finds himself looking out over the sparkling river once again, the breeze ruffling his hair. This time though he remembers Edward's story of his life and feels anew the pain that Edward had wept out onto his shoulder. Without conscious thought his feet turn and he takes a path back into the small town, and to a particular place.

He heads to Kate's.

~o.O.o~

Entering the bustling café, he almost turns to leave. The lunch rush is upon them and he can barely stand to be around so many people. He takes a deep breath to control the familiar rising panic, the urge to flee screaming through his brain. It's no use – scanning the space once more he feels the icy fear build and backs out of the door, sitting down at one of the two empty outdoor tables.

He tells himself he will try again when a few people leave. He will be fine once most of them have gone; he will be able to breathe again then. He sits in the sun, pretending to peruse the menu for half an hour, trying to ignore how his hands shake. As time passes people begin to leave, two at a time for the majority. A couple more go in, but not enough to refill the slowly emptying café. Carlisle grips the wooden chair for control; being alone in a crowded place presses every button he fears. His stressed brain congratulates him on staying in the seat for this long. Back in New York, he would have headed home and not tried again, but this place is a part of Edward and he will not run from that.

After an hour has passed, he forces himself to his feet and reaches for the door.

A couple of seats are still occupied, but otherwise the place is empty, dirty crocks and cutlery littering the small tables. A dark-haired waitress is weaving her way through with a large bowl that she is filling with plates and cups. She looks up and sees Carlisle.

"Sit anywhere you like, hon – I'll be round to wipe down and take your order in a minute."

She disappears through the doors to the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a fresh cloth and a spray. Carlisle chooses a window seat and waits for her to clear and clean down. Her efficiency calms him and he places his order without incident, sitting back and forcing his body to relax.

"Excuse me, but is Kate here?"

"Yes, she's in the office. Would you like me to call her for you?"

He smiles a little at her courtesy, and nods, noting her name from the badge on her uniform.

"Yes, thank you."

A minute or so later Kate appears, a small frown creasing her forehead as she scans the room, her eyes widening a fraction in surprise when she spots Carlisle. She whispers to the waitress and the girl nods, heading to fetch his coffee while Kate walks over to Carlisle. Her smile is guarded, and he realises that she doesn't trust him, perhaps feeling he is not right for her friend. She nods to the seat and he gestures for her to join him. A moment later the waitress, Tia, places his coffee on the table and he thanks her with a small nod.

"I didn't know you were coming to stay; I thought Edward would have mentioned it."

"He had no idea. I didn't know myself until I got on the plane. I missed him and he felt the same way."

"And he's happy you're here?"

Carlisle colours, just a little, feeling awkward having this discussion with a relative stranger.

"We both are."

She nods twice, a brief movement accompanied by an imperceptible tightening of the lips.

"Is this just a quick visit?"

"I – I have no immediate plans to leave. I can work here in Maine just as easily as New York."

Her gaze pins him in place and he feels the force of her will.

"Carlisle - let me be honest. I love Edward and I don't want to see him hurt. He's a grown man who can make his own decisions, but he's been through a lot."

"I know." Carlisle's voice is low.

She raises an eyebrow in surprise.

"He told you? About his family?"

"Yes." He strives to keep his fingers from gripping the table.

"Then you know how hard it is for him to trust anyone. I can't stand by and watch his heart get broken if there's anything I can do prevent it. You don't have to leave to do that you know; withholding any part of yourself could break him, reminding him of past pain." She straightens the cutlery and brushes away imaginary salt grains in a distracted fashion. "If there's one thing I know, it's that that boy needs honesty and trust in his life."

She looks at him then and he sees the love she holds for Edward shining in her eyes. He tries to explain.

"I would never-"

She lifts a hand, stopping him in mid-flow.

"Don't say that; don't promise what you can't know. Edward cares for you; I hear it in his voice. Can you prove yourself worthy of that? Because if you're not looking for commitment then please hurt him now before he gets too invested."

Carlisle is stunned. Her words hold no animosity, only love and concern for Edward, something they both share. His voice is broken, his throat dry.

"I have feelings for him too, Kate. He and I are very similar, both alone in our lives, just working and..." he laughs, the sound lacking any humour, "well, I would say sleeping, but that's not something I'm very good at when I'm back home."

His hands are tensing and relaxing, the interaction proving to be uncomfortable and stressful. Kate eyes him for a moment, taking in his obvious anxiety.

"How long?" She cocks her head and watches him. "How long did it take for you to be able to come in here and talk to me?"

He crumples, his hands shaking now.

"I tried... earlier... but it was too crowded. I couldn't do it on my own, without Edward. I don't go out a lot because crowds make me anxious."

"Airports must be hell for you."

He nods. "I try to take flights at unsociable hours. I can cope when it's quiet."

Kate is silent, her mind ticking, pieces beginning to slot into place. Hope flares in her mind.

"Yet you've made yourself take two unnecessary flights to come and see Edward. That shows an inner determination. I like that you're prepared to face your fears to be with him. It's a good start. This place is pretty quiet compared to New York – it might be good for you to spend some time here."

He nods, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.

"Edward said much the same thing."

She pushes the cup of coffee toward him, the spoon clinking in the saucer, before patting his hand in a reassuring gesture.

"I get the feeling that you two have a way to go yet and many more things to tell each other, but Rome wasn't built in a day. No doubt we'll talk again, Carlisle, if you're going to be sticking around. Coffee's on the house - drink up before it gets cold."

Grateful, he reaches for the cup and takes a sip. Kate stands and pushes the chair back into place, the bright sun adding warm highlights to her blonde hair as she heads back to the counter. Without turning around she calls back to him:

"By the way, it's decaf."

~o.O.o~

He feels overwhelmed. Dealing with people is still so foreign to him, so challenging. He wants to go back to the apartment, to hide away in safety and solitude, but instead forces himself to visit the local store for groceries. Edward was sure to need some extra food having had no warning of his arrival. He breathes deeply to keep calm and makes his way around the aisles picking up fresh steak, cheese and chicken, filling his basket with fresh vegetables and fruit. At the till he finds a small smile for the cashier and it is returned, the young woman having no idea of the determination and effort behind the simple gesture.

Walking back, bags in hand, he wallows in the warmth of the sun on his face. His skin has seen precious little sunlight in some time and he is aware that he is pale. Feeling strong after his afternoon of new experiences, he decides then and there to get a little sun each day in the hope that he will soon look less like a tourist and more like a local.

_After all, I want to fit into Edward's world._

To feel part of something, to belong somewhere, is new and he thinks that he will like it. It is the second voice in his mind that pulls him up short.

_But you can't hide out here forever - you have to go back to New York at some point._

Unable to deal with the accompanying wave of desolation that washes over him, he dismisses the thought, locking it away. However, he will soon discover that an unattended thought can grow like a weed and before long it _will_ require his attention.

Back at the apartment, he unpacks the groceries and finds homes for everything in the refrigerator and cupboards. With an eye on the clock, he prepares a salad and switches on the oven for baked potatoes. He needs a filling evening meal after having only eaten pizza. Unsure of Edward's breakfast preferences, he also fixes a fruit salad.

The hands on the clock move at a glacial pace. After an hour of unsettled meandering, he makes his way upstairs to look in on Edward, unable to stay away a moment longer. Gazing at the slumbering vision in the bed, he shakes his head in wonder. Edward's back is to him and it is the work of a moment to kneel and lift the cover just enough to lean under it, placing warm kisses along his spine. Edward stirs a fraction, rolling over with a deep sigh, still sleeping blissfully.

Climbing onto the bed, each movement slow and deliberate, he peels down the covers just far enough to bare Edward's nipples to the air. Leaning in, he flattens his tongue across one pink nub, bathing it in warmth before starting to paint slow circles around the areola, slowly moving inward, his tongue dragging against the sensitive skin. When he reaches the nub he circles it with a flourish before flicking his tongue across the tip, watching Edward's face for signs of waking. Leaning over, he teases its partner, all the while circling the hardened nub with his fingers. Slow, deliberate circles lead to the reddening nub just begging for more direct stimulation. His lips fasten around the stiff peak and suck hard, his tongue fluttering around the base, teasing and tormenting the sensitive flesh.

Gentle moans alert him to Edward's near wakefulness. Continuing to suck those now ruby-red nipples, he slides his hand in between parted thighs to cup his warm sac, giving it a gentle squeeze. Rolling the tight globes between his fingers, he administers a gentle tug that draws forth a gasp. His lover is awake now, his mouth slack, chin jutting upward from his taut neck. To ensure he has his full attention, he releases the swollen nub only to scrape his teeth from base to tip. Edward's chest is flushed and heaving now, his breathing raspy and uneven. He massages the tortured nipple with thumb and forefinger, unwilling to break contact, while he sucks and laps at its twin, both now angry and suffused with blood.

Pushing aside the covers, Carlisle sees the state of Edward's arousal, his hard body quivering and straining towards ecstasy. In a conscious effort not to touch him any further, he concentrates solely on the over-sensitised nipples, testing the theory in his mind. It is clear his lover is on the precipice, with his eyes squeezed shut and his back arched toward his tormentor. Simultaneously he pinches both nubs just hard enough to send bolts of pleasure through Edward's body, hearing his impassioned, euphoric cries fly free, followed by the noisy inhalation of air into pained lungs.

It's time.

Nuzzling his nose against Edward's heated cheek, he whispers one word.

"Come."

He dips his head and captures the closest nipple between his teeth, biting quick and hard enough to cause pain. As Edward screams, Carlisle turns his attention to the other engorged nub and bites down. Edward's body spasms as though electrocuted, flailing and bucking beneath him, his body releasing his gift in strong, rhythmic pulses, showering them both.

Carlisle presses kisses to his neck, stroking his palm down the length of his shuddering body to calm the twitching aftershocks of pleasure. It is only when he lifts his head to kiss Edward that he sees the tears rolling down onto the pillow.

He feels sick to his stomach.

Reaching up to stroke his hair, he tries to gather together the right words to apologise. Before he can form a thought, he feels a hand on the back of his head pulling him down; he tastes tears when Edward's lips crash into his. When they break apart he looks into soft, adoring eyes and tries to voice his fears.

"I hurt you. I am so sorry – I only ever wanted to give you pleasure."

Edward's fingers cover his mouth, silencing him.

"Shh. Everything's good... amazing..." He smiles and Carlisle's stomach twists. "That was intense - I never knew it could feel like that. I think I blacked out for a second. I always knew they were sensitive, but..." The words tail off and he fists Carlisle's hair before kissing him again. When they resurface, Edward's words are breathless and faltering.

"However you knew I don't know, but thank you."

Carlisle's fears are rising from the dark depths and into the light of day. Looking into Edward's open, trusting gaze he realises he has relinquished all control.

He can't go back to how he was before, even if he wanted to.

He has fallen in love.

~o.O.o~


	8. Chapter 8

**I know there has quite a delay in getting this chapter out to you. I will make a start on Ch9 while they keep talking. I also intend to try & finish a couple of half-written pieces in my folder & maybe even write a new one-shot for a contest. Wish me inspiration & plot bunnies!**

**Thanks as always go to my beta, mxpi1970, for her friendship and support.**

**As always, I own nothing. Stephenie Meyer owns all.**

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><p><strong>All I Want to Hear<strong>

**Chapter 8**

It is no surprise to either of them when, after Edward's shift finishes a few days' later, he comments on how much calmer Carlisle seems to be. He is becoming more familiar with Maine, discovering the small cafes and bookshops to while away the hours while Edward sleeps. He likes the friendly locals, the smiles, feeling part of something. His confidence is starting to grow.

He has visited Monroe on a couple of rainy afternoons, the old man and he striking up a friendship over their shared passion for literature. Edward is saddened that, when he and Carlisle go to Kate's, they find her friendly and polite, yet still on the fence. Carlisle understands it is because of her concern for Edward, but, deep down, he hopes to prove himself a worthy recipient of his love and, in turn, win her respect and friendship.

Edward is revelling in the joy of having his man in his life and in his bed. Since returning to Maine, neither has mentioned Carlisle leaving nor set a date for him to return to New York. The two of them are settled into a routine that has happened organically – they have both adapted to the new status quo as if it were always this way.

Days pass, Edward working, Carlisle writing. His new book is ready and Hale Publishing want a meeting in New York, assuming him to be there.

Edward comes home on the Thursday morning, sneaking in to wake Carlisle with his morning coffee. He wafts the mug in front of his face, seeing Carlisle react, a contented, sleepy grin on his face before his eyes open.

"Morning." Edward sets the mug down on the nightstand and crawls onto the bed. "So – I'm off now 'til Monday night. What shall we do this weekend?" He crooks a suggestive eyebrow at the thought of uninterrupted time with his lover.

Carlisle's face drops, discomfort evident. Edward frowns.

"What's wrong?"

"My publishers messaged me – I have a meeting with them tomorrow afternoon."

Edward sits back on his heels.

"Can't you Skype?"

"No – they prefer face to face."

"And I don't suppose it occurred to you to say you were out of state?" He sees the haunted look flash across Carlisle's face and guesses the answer. "When's your flight? Will you be gone the whole weekend?" He can't hide the dismay in his tone.

"I was going to book it this morning."

Edward's face brightens.

"Well you better book two seats then." Edward isn't fazed at all; this makes perfect sense. Carlisle on the other hand is a rabbit frozen in the headlights.

"You don't need to come. I won't be gone more than one night and I can fly back the next day."

He is startled into defensive action, the old Carlisle resurfacing in utter panic. Edward's hand grips the duvet.

"You don't want me to come." His voice is flat – hurt.

Carlisle pushes himself up the bed, distancing himself.

"You have to understand that..."

"You don't want to be seen with me where you live?"

"No... _No! _That's not it. How can I make you see...?" He flusters, running scared, old insecurities taking control. "I live in two different worlds. Back there, I'm someone else, someone I don't want to be; someone I don't want you to _see_."

His face is contorted, his two worlds colliding with a crash loud enough to scare the birds from the trees. His fears are coming to pass.

Edward leans into him, his voice taking a cajoling edge.

"Maybe you're not that person anymore. Did you stop to think about that?" Carlisle cannot answer, the words he wishes to speak merely echo around inside his head. "Have you stopped to consider that maybe I want to come with you? That I want to see your life and be a part of it with you?" His voice drops in defeat. "But then I guess you don't want to be seen with me. You'd rather hide here and pretend we have a life together – pretend that we have a future when you won't share anything with me. You block me out of your life when all I want is to share mine with you." He is choked, rejection a hard sting to bear.

Carlisle is drowning. Edward's words are all too true, and he sees a flash of his life back in New York, how lost he felt there, how hopeless it had all seemed before Edward entered his life and turned it upside down. For the first time he has seen there is an escape from that cold, austere existence and now, seeing Edward's dismay at his flat refusal, he sees what he risks losing and is struck with paralysing fear – he has no idea which way to turn. He blunders on, trying to articulate how he feels.

"You must understand, Edward, that you don't belong there. You and ... that... part of my life just don't mesh. The world I inhabit there is organised, cold, efficient. It suited me, helped me become who I am. I was safe there." His voice shakes, reduced to a mere whisper. "I could hide there."

Edward's head rises, his stormy gaze darkening.

"Hide? From whom?"

Carlisle crumples under the forceful stare. His voice cracks.

"From _myself_."

"And now?" Edward's words drop to a rough croak. "What about now? Carlisle, you tell people I'm your friend – never boyfriend or partner, but _friend_. You back away from social intimacy. It's not that I need public displays of affection, but you have no idea just how badly I want to hold your hand and show the world how lucky I've gotten."

Carlisle flinches.

"We can't, there would be gossip and I can't... I just... can't."

"No! You have it backwards!" Edward's hands are in his hair, threatening to rip clumps out by the root. "No one would _care! _I mean, they'd care, but in a _good _way! Me being gay – it isn't big news around here. My friends know, my work colleagues know – at least I think they do. Carlisle, I've done nothing but work and sleep for so long. I've been lonely and thought that I just had to deal with it, but then you come along..." He scrunches up his eyes, embarrassed, but unable to stop the words tumbling out. "We don't have to skip through the tulips hand in hand – this isn't a movie. I just want to touch you when you're close, to feel pride in being the one who gets to be with you and know that others can't have you. I want us to be _real._ Is this making any kind of sense to you because I'm pouring my heart out here?"

He chokes, almost too afraid to meet Carlisle's eyes. A warm hand touches his, and soft, heartfelt words wash over his bruised heart.

"I never meant to shut you out. Intimacy for me is new and difficult, but with you I'm working on it, breaking down the barriers I've built up. I'm sorry that it's taking me time because I swear to you I'm trying and I'm making progress. I really am. I even went and spoke to Kate so she knows that I'm serious."

Edward fingers clasp onto Carlisle's, finding strength in his physical presence as he has from that first night.

"You went and saw Kate alone? Did she kick your ass?"

"She made it perfectly clear that she would always back you no matter what. I don't think she trusts me yet. I hope that I can change that."

"But if you can't even show me your home then how are we going to move forward? You shut me out of so much and I get why, I do. I know you've had a bad past – I have too. One day I hope you can talk to me about it, but..." he breathes deep. "Carlisle, we get so little time together – why would you deliberately cut me out of the time we could be sharing?" His free hand rakes his already dishevelled hair. "I hate it when you leave – there, I said it. I dread you leaving me; there's always that fear that you might never come back, that this is it. I don't know what I'd do now if that happened."

Carlisle's mind reels in horror. He has all but broken the man he loves, his own insecurities eating away at the only thing in his existence that he truly values. Without another word, Edward slides off of the bed and leaves the room, his leaden footfalls on the stairs jarring Carlisle's heart.

Love.

Is this how it was meant to go? He has no frame of reference to compare. He loves his family, the dog he had while growing up; he has never loved another as an equal. He doesn't know the way to act, nor has he the words to express it. It is all too much – he is unprepared for the torrent of emotions flooding his brain. For the first time since they met, he wants to run back to New York where his sterile, structured life makes sense, to where emotion plays no part in his sequestered, solitary existence.

And yet the thought of Edward ever leaving him eclipses the light from his soul, the inevitable agony a punishment he could never atone for. His hands shake, fight or flight adrenalin burning through his system.

_I can't lose him._

_I'll only hurt him._

_He might stay._

_He might hate me._

_He might _pity_ me._

That last thought is searing – he knows that pity would be the worst thing. He wants...

_I want him to love me._

The idea seems preposterous – Carlisle's self esteem still too low to accept that love could ever be possible. Surely he is unworthy.

While he is processing this thought, he hears Edward return, quick footfalls on the stairs until he is standing in the doorway, fists pressed against the doorposts. His face is twisted with frustration.

"Has it ever crossed your mind that I might want to see the view from the top of the Empire State Building? That I might want to see a show or walk around Central Park? And that I might actually want to experience those things with _you?_"

His hands slide down the wooden posts. His posture, for a moment so proud and defiant, sags, the brief, flaring spark of light in his eyes burning out in a sputter.

Without waiting for an answer, he turns and leaves.

Carlisle scrambles out of bed only to hear the front door close. He isn't dressed, he can't follow. Grabbing a robe, he carries his coffee downstairs and boots up the laptop. Finding the familiar airline site, he books the flight, not allowing himself to change his mind. When he presses 'confirm payment', he takes a deep breath before releasing it in a sigh.

His hands are shaking.

~o.O.o~

Edward walks down the path, his hands balling into frustrated fists.

_Why does he hold me at arm's length? Why can't he let me in?_

The words circle his brain, finding no answer yet refusing to cease. He doesn't want to push, in fact he feels guilty at his outburst, yet he knows it was unavoidable.

_I think about him all the time. How can I love someone so much when they offer me so little?_

His mind gently reminds him of the progress Carlisle has made in their time together. It feels wrong to want so much more when he is watching him make progress every day. He is prepared to wait, but fears frustration and longing may eat him up from the inside before they can ever reach the same page in this story they are writing together. He has circled the block and calmed down enough to go home. His steps hasten, needing to apologise and to hold his man.

_I have more than so many others. He wants me – only me – and he is trying to move heaven and earth to make us work. And I don't want anybody else – he is everything I could ever need._

He relaxes, his hands open and loose as he walks. Stepping inside the house, he sees his coffee on the counter, still warm enough to drink; he has been gone less than ten minutes. Carlisle's laptop sits open at the page showing the airline booking. He glances at the screen before taking a mouthful of coffee. His eyes snap back to the screen, unable to be sure of what he sees.

Two tickets.

Elation and joy, tempered with apprehension, flood his consciousness.

_Does Carlisle feel coerced into this? I have to know – this has to be what he wants, else I will pay him for the ticket and stay here._

Hearing movement, he heads upstairs. He pauses at the bathroom door before pushing it open, steam billowing out onto the landing. Shedding his clothes, he opens the curtain and steps into the pulsing spray. His arms snake around Carlisle's waist while his lips press kisses to the smooth skin between his shoulders. He feels resistance for a second before the warm, wet body relaxes into the caress, slumping against the tiles and allowing full access to his body.

He moans Edward's name.

"I hope you weren't expecting someone else." Edward's voice is teasing.

"Just trying to remember if I told my other lover not to come over today while you're home." Carlisle's voice is deadpan and Edward stills. Carlisle turns in the confined space and cups Edward's face with one hand, his thumb tracing his full lips. Carlisle's hair is dark under the water, droplets falling from his eyelashes. His gaze is intense, studying Edward's for reassurance. "I'm joking."

"I saw the tickets." Edward leans in to be heard over the water. "What made you change your mind?"

Carlisle's head drops. "I hurt you. I seem to keep doing it yet I never wanted to. If you need to do this, to see my other life, then I accept that. I want what you want, Edward." He wipes water from his eyes, pushing his wet hair back before he looks up. There is a second's pause when their eyes lock. Carlisle finds his nerve, forcing down the lump rising in his tight throat.

"I love you, Edward. No matter what, whether we can get past everything or not, I need you to know that."

This is the first time in years that he has something to lose and, at that moment, Carlisle is a terrified man balanced on a narrow ledge over a yawning chasm. He can barely breathe; tremulous is he, awaiting Edward's reaction.

Silence echoes off the walls, the pounding water a concerto of love to Edward's ears. His face glows with the realisation that his dream is fast materialising. It may be flawed, but even imperfect diamonds shine when the light is right, and in that precise moment, Edward is basking in Carlisle's presence. Unable to speak, he pulls Carlisle in close for a kiss that escalates in seconds. He falls into him, his hand finding purchase in his wet hair, crushing their lips together. In that moment, he feels a deep-seated physical ache, all previous thoughts forgotten. It is enough that Carlisle has taken this monumental step; it is enough that he has made this choice, and for now, Edward will not ask for more.

Clasped together, their bodies heat up from within; passion coils and writhes, driving them ever onward. Hands grasp and stroke, soap froths and streams down wet skin, slippery and enticing. Reddened flesh strains upward, jutting forward in impatient yearning. Edward's hand glides down Carlisle's taut stomach, grazing the rosy head with the pad of his thumb. He hears the hissed response, feels the answering jump of stomach muscles under his questing hand. Rolling his own hips inward, he touches their shafts with his hand, grasping them together before beginning a slow thrust along the length of Carlisle's rigid flesh. The need is immediate and intense, their breathing catching, eyes darkening to feral black in an instant.

Edward runs his nose up the curve of Carlisle's neck to nuzzle his jaw, hot breath blasting against damp skin. He feels a hand on his buttock, a thumb rubbing his hipbone before pulling him in tight. They writhe and groan, Edward's tongue running up and under his lover's throat, over his Adam's apple, lightly sucking his chin. Water is in his eyes, his hair flat to his head, face flushed with arousal, yet he has never looked more beautiful to Carlisle, with his panting mouth and parted, swollen lips. He allows himself a moment to drink him in before claiming his mouth in a greedy kiss; a starving man offered a buffet of exotic delights. Their kisses are rougher now, their movements erratic and powered by base need. Carlisle feels the cold tile at his back when he is pressed against the wall by his eager lover. He leans down to nip at Edward's shoulder and neck, somehow needing to mark him, claim him as owned property – such an un-Carlisle-like gesture. He doesn't question his actions, hearing Edward's purr of ecstasy when his teeth make purchase with his wet, succulent form. They are grinding with abandon now, dark, ruddy flesh threatening to erupt at any moment. Edward's hand grips tighter, pumping hard, pulling the pleasure from their bodies in loud, triumphant cries. Carlisle sags, able to stay upright throughout the powerful orgasm ripping through him only because of Edward's weight pinning him to the wall, the water cascading down their heaving, gasping bodies.

Edward presses kisses to his lover's neck and cheek, finally reaching his lips with a drawn out sigh of satisfaction. Staring deep into Carlisle's sleepy, unguarded eyes, he smiles.

"Did I mention that I love you too?"

~o.O.o~

They pack overnight necessities for Edward, bare essentials for Carlisle who has most of his belongings at his own apartment.

Carlisle keenly feels the shift in their relationship. Together they are more than he ever hoped to have, and now he has to return to New York and tell him everything, risking losing him one way or the other. While they pack, he makes the decision to broach the subject of moving to Edward when they return from New York. Is it too soon? It's not that he is asking to move in, he could not be so bold, but to relocate to be near Edward, to be able to see him whenever they chose.

A small part of Carlisle realises that the transitioning, both of his location and his mindset, is a very positive step. He just has to get through the weekend.

It's crunch time.

~o.O.o~

This next step will be a hurdle for Carlisle, but with Edward at his side and in his arms, he may just make it through. What he doesn't yet know is how instrumental Edward will prove to be in smashing those longstanding, self-made barriers.

They are quiet in the cab to the airport, the departure lounge busier than Carlisle is comfortable with. That morning, he had booked the first available flight with two seats next to each other rather than his usual late night, quiet flight.

Edward sees him pale, his face taking on a haunted look. He brushes his fingers over his Carlisle's tense hand to distract him.

"If it gets too much, just look at me. Forget about them - they're not important."

This draws a grateful smile, and a deep, calming breath. Their flight is called on time and they make their way to the gate, Edward as close to Carlisle as possible, not willing to leave his side. They cross the jet way and take their seats, stowing their carry-on in the overhead lockers. Carlisle looks alarmed.

"I usually hold mine."

"Why?"

Then he sees Carlisle's hands twisting and understands – he needs to touch something familiar, to feel safe and grounded. With a smile, he slips his hand into his lover's and is rewarded with a squeeze of gratitude.

"You're fine - you're with me."

That simple promise is enough, and when the plane takes to the air, Carlisle is reassured by his lover's touch.

~o.O.o~

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><p><strong>AN**

**A side note for any readers of Rescue Me that are wondering where it went - this story was removed & is now only available on my blog (see my profile) and on the Writer's Coffee Shop. Same author name. See you there. ~KC**


	9. Chapter 9

**Huge thanks go to my friends, in particular mxpi1970 (my awesome beta), loopylou992 for her help and handholding with this chapter while I beat at the brick wall called writers block, and to my readers and reviewers, in particular the lovely CentauRita who never gave up hope.**

**I own nothing. Stephenie Meyer owns all.**

* * *

><p><strong>All I Want to Hear<strong>

**Chapter 9**

The flight is short and filled with trepidation.

Carlisle's world is changing with every minute that passes. When the plane begins its descent, instead of staring straight ahead, his posture stiff, he concentrates on the feel of Edward's fingers wrapped around his, the steadying warmth of his touch keeping him fixed in the here and now.

They disembark at Terminal B, bypassing the busy luggage carousel, their meagre carryon in their hands. The airport is bustling with passengers, shouting over each other and waving at happy faces there to greet them. Some are striding through the crowds, briefcases in hand, an air of authority all around them that seems to clear their path, or so it appears to Edward. He stays close, knowing better than to show affection out in the open – especially here. This isn't home – this feels strange, exciting, and almost alien. The building isn't as grand as he expected, it looks outdated and tired, and yet all his head can think is 'This is New York! I'm here!' He is reminded of the last time he came to an airport and the heart-stopping reunion they had shared right there in front of the world and yet unnoticed by other oblivious individuals. The memory stirs his heart into overdrive.

He stays tight to Carlisle's shoulder, and they make for the taxi rank outside. No sooner have they arrived then an empty cab jerks to a stop. In a flurry of movement, Carlisle has the door open and the luggage inside, not willing to take the risk of having to wait longer. Edward scrambles in and Carlisle follows, leaning forward to speak to the cabbie, only breathing easy once the door slams closed.

"You don't use the shuttle buses then?" A smile quirks Edward's lips until he sees his lover shudder. "Sorry – I was just thinking how much it must cost to take cabs everywhere." His thumb rubs a comforting rhythm around Carlisle's knuckles.

"I'd rather use cabs. I like the anonymity of them." To Edward, Carlisle seems tightly wound, uncomfortable here on his home ground when this must surely be more familiar to him than Maine. Or was that now no longer the case? Is there a chance that this place, the specific place where he has chosen to hide away, has become unfamiliar territory, with strangers around every corner and no friendly faces to be found?

Edward's eyebrows pinch together, fresh worry blossoming anew for the first time since leaving Maine.

The cab ride is long and quiet, Edward studying Carlisle's unhappy face and wanting so much to reassure him. He does not want to overstep the mark and hopes that his presence alone is enough to offer some comfort until they arrive at his apartment, close the door on the outside world, and relax. He wants to burrow under the surface a little and learn more about the New York Carlisle he first met in that dark hotel room, the lost and lonely man who chooses this busy metropolis in which to hide away.

The cab pulls to a stop outside one of what seems to Edward to be an endless sea of tall, imposing buildings. The blue awning over the lobby door bears the address; Edward smiles to himself. _Do rich folk get lost easily or does every street, and every building, look the same here?_

Carlisle is paying the driver and climbing out, Edward hot on his heels. No time to look around, they enter the building and head to the elevator.

"So which level is...?" Edward doesn't finish the sentence, seeing Carlisle press the button for the ninth floor. Door closed, the elevator begins its ascent and Edward feels his lover relax in the confined space, the outside world no longer able to intrude. The doors slide open and Carlisle exits, key in hand. Edward glances around.

"It's quiet."

The door opens and he is ushered inside.

"My neighbours only live here for part of the year. It's pretty perfect. I don't know where they go – it's not like we talk."

Edward drops his bag inside the door and walks through the living space to the large window dominating the room. He points to the trees far below, people the size of ants walking even smaller dogs.

"Is that Central Park?"

Carlisle is still at the door, trying to process what he sees.

_Edward. In my apartment._

"Yes." Struggling to make the images meld in his distracted mind, he heads away from the man he craves, the world around him becoming blurry and indistinct.

Edward turns to see him walking away carrying their bags. He follows him into a white room, almost empty save for a large bed and closet. Carlisle looks round to see Edward behind him, worry etched on his beautiful face. He hates that he is still causing him pain, but he is disoriented, out of focus and floundering. The words are soothing, yet hold an undertone of fear.

"What's wrong? Talk to me, Carlisle. Are you regretting bringing me here?"

"No, of course not... No." His buckled brow mocks his words, his eyes tight.

"Tell me about this place; did you deliberately set out to live so high up? It must be a nightmare if the elevator breaks down."

"I-I... I like to look down on the world, literally speaking. I don't feel a part of it anyway and this way it's almost like I'm not... a part of it, I mean. I watch the world go by, the day to day business of the city happening beneath me, and I feel numb."

Warm hands clasp his, holding his balance. He looks into concerned eyes, full of love – love for _him_.

"This isn't healthy. You need to be part of the world. If you can't do that here then why stay? It's poisoning you a little more every day – it's killing the man I love, and I can't bear that." He rests his cheek against Carlisle's, closing his eyes in the moment, feeling soft, rasping breaths against his ear, arms winding themselves around him in a fierce embrace.

They stand, wrapped around each other, both afraid to let go. Edward's whisper breaks the silence.

"Take me to bed; I want to hold you."

Together they shed their clothes, not hurrying, a simple exchange of power in the act of mutual unfastening and disrobing. Clothes fall to the floor, the sharp clatter of buttons, the clinks and whirrs of belts and zippers. The curtains are open, weak sunlight throwing gentle shadows across the wall. Edward gazes into Carlisle's eyes, gauging his discomfort, before reaching for him, feeling the pounding of his heart against his own chest. His hands ghost down the soft skin of his back, feeling the sheen of nervous sweat.

"Relax." His lips find the sweet hollow of his lover's throat, feeling the answering shudder ripple across his skin. "It's just us. No need to close the curtains up here. No one can see us."

Together they sink down onto the bed, kissing and stroking, each finding home in the other's comforting touch.

~o.O.o~

Edward pushes himself up on his elbow and looks down at his lover.

"This is a nice bed."

"I prefer yours. It has you in it."

"I'm here now though." His fingers caress the line of Carlisle's jaw before kissing him long and slow. "Where can we go tomorrow after your meeting?"

"You choose."

"Can we do the touristy thing? I've never been to the Big Apple."

Carlisle heart races; his casual response takes herculean effort.

"Okay then."

"Show me your city."

Carlisle has expected this.

"I hardly know it."

"Then let's discover it together."

The soft sounds of kisses fill the sunlit room.

~o.O.o~

Edward wakes to find the sunlight gone, the room darkening into early evening, and for a moment he is disoriented. A contented smile spreads across his face when he hears Carlisle's even breathing beside him, the novelty of waking up together always a wonderful experience he feels he will never tire of. Watching Carlisle sleep, he indulges the secret fantasy he holds onto tight during those times when they are apart. He sees them living together in Maine, where he has been promoted to day manager, working regular hours and spending all his free time with the man he loves. He sees Carlisle's name across the spines filling his bookshelves, his success their shared joy. He sees their friends' happiness at...

_No._

He can't allow his mind to go farther than that, to build up hopes beyond those that have any possible potential. He loves this man so very much and cannot allow himself to push too hard, too fast. He fears even now that Carlisle will panic and run at the thought of major change. Edward wants a future with Carlisle, sees them as a couple, but has to have him on board, fully committed to wanting the same thing, to being together and seeing where it takes them. Carlisle's fears are huge barriers, his past a roadblock to their happiness. The demons must be exorcised.

Slipping out of bed, he makes his way to the spacious bathroom, catching sight of himself in the mirror as he turns to leave. Leaning in close, he sees the hickey low down on his neck, a memento of their shower the previous afternoon. His fingers touch the mark, loving the unbridled passion it represents, seeing his own eyes shine at the memory, his face flushing. The sound of rustling accompanied by the creaking of a wooden bed frame calls him back to the bedroom. Carlisle's face is sad and somehow vacant, his head registering his surroundings and believing himself to be alone. His sudden surprise when he sees a naked Edward is comical until he remembers where he is, where _they_ are, his face now alight with the happiness that only love can bring.

Edward grins, lounging against the door post.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving. I'm guessing any food you might have had here would have walked out on its own by now. Where can we eat?"

Carlisle's face is frozen. Edward's flow is flawless.

"Or we could cook something. Is there a grocery store nearby?"

"The next street over has one I use. Or we could order in; delivery is fast. I have menus in the kitchen."

"Sure. " He disappears and returns within a minute, his hand clutching a sheaf of menus. "I could go for Italian... or maybe Chinese? What about you?"

Carlisle relaxes. "The Italian restaurant down the street is good. I'll ring through when you've decided."

Thirty minutes later, Carlisle answers the door to a delivery guy with a paper sack full of cartons of steaming food. Edward is quick to empty the bag whilst Carlisle tips the man. He receives a friendly grin in return; it appears that Carlisle is well known to the delivery staff at Casa Nonna. They eat with enthusiasm, the food tasting like heaven after both the flight and their recent exertions. Clearing away, Edward comments on something he has noticed.

"Do you cook much here? You seemed to enjoy it so much back in Maine."

Carlisle gives a crooked smile.

"Shopping here is a little different from what you're used to. Lack of space means regular visits to the stores, and most of the time it's easier to just order groceries online than face the crowds. Plus, ordering in from restaurants is simpler. I do cook, but only when I'm not working."

"But you're always working." Edward's tone holds a mild admonishment. "You need to make time for yourself." He crumples up the empty paper sack.

"I do – it's the time I spend thinking about you." Carlisle's voice is soft and vulnerable. Edward stills, looking over at his lover.

"Then think of me more often." His words are whispered.

Carlisle draws him into his arms, holding him close and inhaling the scent of his skin.

"When I think of you I'm inspired to do things other than cook."

Edward's soft moan is all the food that Carlisle's soul needs.

~o.O.o~

Carlisle is up early to prepare himself for the meeting. Edward stays behind, not wanting to venture out into the city until they can do so together. He knows that Carlisle will be back soon and fills his time with a hot shower and a look around the apartment now that he is alone. He has no intention of snooping, looking only at what is on display in the open space. What he realises is that there are no photos on display, no indication of family or childhood. He wonders if Carlisle has lost these items along the way, perhaps in a move. The picture on the wall is abstract, just colours in a pleasing sweep across the canvas. The bedroom is sparsely furnished, looking more like a hotel room than a personal refuge, the walls all white save for one, a restful blue above the head of the bed. The living space is dominated by a sofa and chair, the coffee table piled with aged books. A desk sits by the overstuffed bookshelves, an empty space in the centre the size of Carlisle's laptop. A phone, notebook and pot of pens all sit off to one side and Edward can see in his mind's eye the hours Carlisle spends in this space, finding the words to express his passion for the subject matter. Running his fingers across the chair back, he knows that if he were sitting here now he would be bringing him coffee and rubbing his tense shoulders.

He hopes the meeting is going well.

~o.O.o~

Edward is gazing out of the living room window when he hears the elevator stop outside. He is there to greet him the moment the door opens.

"Well? Is it all good?"

Carlisle nods, filling a glass with water and downing half in a couple of noisy gulps.

"He's happy with the book which is a relief. A few minor changes to make, but nothing I can't finish in good time."

Edward beams. "Fantastic! So does this mean you get to take a break before starting on the next one?"

Carlisle's chuckle is a joyous sound.

"Yes! I can have a little downtime before restarting. Not much though; you're only as memorable as your last book and I don't want to have too long a break between releases."

"So what you're saying is that I'm in love with a workaholic?"

"I'm afraid so. The upside is that I get to spend my free time with you."

"Now you're speaking my language. So what are we doing today?"

"I thought you wanted to see the Empire State Building and Central Park?"

Edward lights up. "I do!"

"Then I'll book tickets so we don't have to wait in line. We should do that this evening – the city will look spectacular."

For Carlisle, the thought of fighting his way down Fifth Avenue through the crowds leaves him in a cold sweat, the later booking enabling him to breathe easier. Now he just has to face Central Park during the height of the day on a glorious, sunny Saturday.

_Hell on earth._

"Just a thought, but would you like to take the ferry over to Staten Island? You get a great view of all the Islands that way."

Edward thinks for a moment.

"Sounds fun, but I'd rather just walk and take in the sights if that's okay; maybe I'll get a souvenir for Kate too."

Carlisle psyches himself up.

"That's a great idea. Let's get started. I'll book the tickets."

He hopes his smile does not look forced, his love for Edward driving him forward. The booking completed, he sees Edward's outstretched hand and takes it; together they catch the elevator and head outside for the park across the street. Carlisle's overriding instinct is to let go of the warm hand he is holding the minute they are on the sidewalk. Edward has expected this and hopes to persuade him that they are doing nothing wrong. He whispers to him, a mantra to keep him relaxed.

"It's okay - just breathe. No one knows us. No one is looking at us. But if they were - believe me - they'd just be jealous of me being out with you."

He feels Carlisle's grip loosen on his, not pushing him away exactly, but making the contact appear casual and inconsequential. Edward does not fight him, but does not let go until his fingers slip free. They cross the street and enter the lushness of the park, walking for a few minutes in silence until they stop at Strawberry Fields to look at the monument strewn with flowers. While they stand together, Edward feels Carlisle's tentative touch, his fingers capturing his own and interlacing. Edward senses the hesitation in his demeanour when people approach, also looking at the mosaic; Carlisle is tense, fearing a confrontation.

Looking at his profile in the dappled light, Edward sees his expression change to confusion when the other people walk away, no sign of disgust or disapproval on their faces. Edward gives his fingers a light, reassuring squeeze.

"We both know this is perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of. You're not ashamed of loving me, are you?"

He waits for an answer, his anxious eyes trying to hide their need for acceptance. When Carlisle turns, Edward holds his breath.

"I could never be ashamed of how I feel about you. But being open around other people... it's so difficult – almost insurmountable."

He shakes his head. The heavy weight in Edward's chest shifts. There are many hurdles to overcome before their relationship can ever be celebrated.

The park is busy, the meadow full, and they walk on, their bodies almost touching. It is a telling moment when a couple of teenage boys walk by, arms wrapped around each others' waists, their faces wreathed in smiles for everyone to see, their love radiating outward in a joyous fog that could be felt by anyone close to them. One of them looks up and nods his head to his lover. They pause and turn to Carlisle and Edward.

"Hey. You guys look good together. First date?"

Their friendliness touches Edward deeply and he is compelled to respond, hoping that Carlisle will also stop.

"First time in New York; we weren't sure how open we could be, you know?"

The young men nod in understanding. "There are haters everywhere; it's how you choose to deal with that. A few people could use a reality check. We get our own back at Gay Pride – then we can kiss and cuddle and no one can do anything about it. The rest of the time..." he shrugs. "They can't stop me loving him so I choose to ignore them. Gotta go – have a good day, guys."

They continue walking, their path taking them towards the street and the promise of lunch. Both are thirsty, breakfast a distant memory. A short walk down the street, a bar promises free pizza slices with every beer; Edward smiles and points.

"Let's go kill two birds with one stone – beer and pizza!"

He heads off, looking back to see Carlisle hesitate before following. He notices the tight posture, senses the warning signs, and returns to his side, his presence offering security and protection from the world around them. Together they walk toward the sounds and aromas of the bar, seeing the place is not overly crowded, the lunch rush having already passed. They walk in, finding empty seats near the door, and claim the table. A waitress appears and they order drinks and food, Edward taking the lead, Carlisle sitting white-faced and quiet. Beneath the table, unseen by anyone who cares to look, Edward stills his lover's jigging knee, his anxieties leaking out into plain sight. He turns as if to make casual chat, his manner unobtrusive yet vital to their situation.

"Just imagine we're in Maine and Kate's about to come through that door with our order. She'll be missing us, you know."

The sharp inhalation beside him betrays the effort Carlisle is putting in to keep it together. It is only moments before their drinks arrive, along with paper plates bearing huge slices of pizza.

"Enjoy, gentlemen."

The pretty waitress tosses them a smile, open admiration for Edward written all over it. He chooses not to notice, both charmed and amused by her interest. Taking a bite of his food, he chases it with a mouthful of ice-cold beer and sighs. Beside him, Carlisle has reached for his own drink, taking frequent sips, his food as yet untouched. Under Edward's watchful eye he takes a bite of steaming pizza. He has to admit to himself that it's very good and he keeps at it, hunger registering for the first time since they sat down.

"What time did you book the Empire State tickets for?" Edward puts down the rest of his slice to swig his beer.

Carlisle checks his watch.

"We can go in an hour. It'll be dusk and the view will be amazing."

"So time for a bit of shopping before we go? Any ideas what I can buy Kate? I was thinking of something fun like a key fob with the Statue of Liberty on it – something like that. She won't expect anything, but I want to do it."

"I'm sure we can find something for her. She'll love anything you get because it will be from you."

His words raise a happy smile and he marvels at how lucky he is to have Edward at his side. He hadn't noticed the waitress at first, but the looks she is throwing their way now are unsubtle at best. He finishes his food and drains his beer, ready to leave. Edward stands and before he can make a move for his wallet, Carlisle has laid more than enough on the table, his gaze levelled at the hopeful girl across the bar, the message clear.

_He's mine. Back off._

He almost feels bad for her when she looks defeated, but knows that given the chance she would only try again. It was the nature of the beast in NY – the single girls were always on the lookout for fresh meat. Standing on the sidewalk, he feels his brief control begin to slip and makes a decision. He hails a cab and they climb in, giving concise instructions to the driver. Edward is gazing out of the windows trying to take it all in, and before long they are at the epicentre of life in NY – Times Square. The bright lights are dazzling, the crowds a seething mass that have no beginning or end. The cab slows in traffic and Carlisle turns to Edward.

"This might be a good place for souvenirs."

Edward frowns, seeing the sheer volume of people in the square.

"It's a bit crowded." The understatement under any other circumstances would be laughable.

"It always is."

No more is said and soon Edward is seeing Bloomingdales outside his window, its windows lit with vibrant displays to entice shoppers. Up ahead he sees the Empire State Building and stares in awe.

"Wow! I can't believe we're going up that! It's incredible!"

His hand finds the one he seeks and he squeezes tight, communicating his enthusiasm. This will be a first for Carlisle too, this tour of New York introducing him to new experiences in the same way as Edward. The cab driver has to wait, and horns honk when he tries to pull in, the car in front refusing to move. A heated exchange through rolled down windows follows and Edward shakes his head.

"This place is crazy!"

Carlisle can't help but agree.

"We'll get out here, thanks." He checks the meter and pays, adding a healthy tip which Edward notices. He leans in and whispers in a confidential tone.

"I wish clients at the Dragonfly tipped half as well as you do."

They climb out and stand at the bottom of the famous landmark before heading for the lobby. Edward's head swivels to take it all in, their feet taking them to the elevators, a quick stop first through the metal detectors. Carlisle speaks to the operator and they head in, on their way to the 80th floor. Edward watches the floor numbers rise, excitement building minute by minute. When they land they find there is a wait for the second elevator to take them to the 86th floor and the observation deck so they opt for the stairs. Five minutes later they arrive. There are a lot of people, jovial jostling seeming to be the only way to acquire the best view. The crowds thin out somewhat a few minutes later, the cold air driving them inside once more and Edward makes the most of the opportunity to take a couple of photos of the city spread below them. Turning his back then he takes a smiling selfie before looking at Carlisle for permission. Leaning in, Carlisle allows him to take a picture of them both, secretly loving the gesture. Their first photo together as a couple; it's an auspicious moment.

Stepping off the elevator back on the ground floor, Carlisle cannot put off the moment he has dreaded any longer and they are soon in a cab headed back to Times Square for Edward to do his souvenir shopping. Edward is wide eyed and keen to look around, knowing this is his last day in New York and wanting to explore and create memories of them together. It is therefore unfortunate that the events that follow are not the kind he would ever want to relive.

Amid the bright lights and sounds that dominate the famous tourist destination, they leave the cab and join the stream of tourists mesmerised by the giant screens and seductive lure of Broadway. Edward spies a flower and gift store and heads in to find a cute memento of their trip for Kate. He checks that Carlisle is with him, keeping him close by while he makes his purchases. However, it is when they step outside again that trouble hits. Carlisle is surrounded by people in every direction and it is now that the suppressed panic attack he has managed to hold at bay suddenly grabs hold of him. The crowded, unfamiliar places he has avoided since living here become overwhelming, oppressive, the teeming streets and crowds closing in on him. He tries to communicate this to Edward, but finds it hard to breathe. Edward registers his terror and tries to dispel it, tries to focus him by holding his face in his hands, encouraging him to ignore everything else.

Carlisle's breathing escalates and Edward realises too late that he is losing him. He tries again to ground him in familiar things, to talk him down from his metaphorical ledge he is balanced on.

"How do you ever go out if you can't face being around all these people?"

Through gasps, Carlisle tries to answer.

"I shop at night when it's quieter. This... _this..._" he gestures around him, his face white, "is too much." He turns to bolt and finds Edward's arms around him, his words encouraging him to breathe, just breathe. No one is looking; they are both jostled and ignored, the incoming tide of people pouring around them in wide, sweeping ripples.

"I can't do this, I can't." For a second he is held, safe and protected, his head buried in Edward's shoulder; he finds the strong, reassuring touch of his lover to be a tower of strength. Then he remembers where he is and shoves Edward aside, his hysteria increasing, his imagined fears of ridicule escalating in the face of perceived public disgust. Without thought, driven by blind panic, Carlisle hails the nearest cab and jumps in, giving directions to the driver before slumping back in the seat fighting for breath. Edward stumbles, caught off guard, saddened yet not surprised at this outcome.

_I pushed too hard._

He stands alone in the unfamiliar, crowded square, his lover already lost to view.

~o.O.o~

He paces up and down, making a conscious effort not to worry about Carlisle and failing in spectacular fashion. His mind skitters, unsure of his next move, not wanting to inflame an already delicate situation. He stills, turning to look at the passersby, searching for a familiar face in the vain hope that Carlisle will return for him. The early evening glow from the store windows illuminates the sidewalks, spilling shadows where the light cannot reach. It is cold and Edward is growing scared that he will not be able to find his way back to Carlisle's apartment, having no address in his head to give to a cab driver other than the upper west side. He checks his phone at regular intervals, but finding no messages he heads to a store where he can at least stand still without being swept along.

He messages Carlisle, hoping and praying for a response:

*I don't know how to get back. What is your address?*

When no answer comes through, he tries again:

*Carlisle – please answer me. It's cold out here and I'm lost.*

It is with some relief that his phone pings a couple of minutes later, a simple address appearing on the screen. Tucking his phone into his pocket along with his souvenirs, he hails a cab and heads back to the apartment to deal with whatever awaits him.

~o.O.o~

Carlisle arrives home and heads straight up to his floor, driven onward by the need to be in safe surroundings. It is a sad truth that he has forgotten Edward in his panic, remembering him only when the door closes and his phone chirps. The crashing realisation of what he has done sends him into a temporary stupor, his eyes staring at the message in his hand with no idea of what to do. Returning is unthinkable – he can no sooner return than fly to the moon – but his whirling mind struggles to find a solution. The second message galvanises him into action; his Edward is scared and alone and it's his fault. He pulls himself together and sends him the address, desperate to have him home yet having no clue of how he will ever be able to apologise for such an action.

Minutes later he hears the elevator and opens the door to let his lover inside. Edward wants to rail at him, to ask him how he could just abandon him in a strange place with no way of finding his way back, but he stays silent and waits. Carlisle is expecting anger and is unprepared instead for this reaction. In all honesty, he expects Edward to want to leave both New York and him, to forget about them and get on with his life, to live his own dreams without being weighed down by the problems of another.

Edward stands just inside the door and watches him with sorrow, seeing the plea for understanding in the depths of those forlorn eyes, and cannot find it in his heart to lose his temper. It is clear to him now that Carlisle had simply reached his coping boundaries while trying to give Edward everything he wanted. In that moment, Edward feels gratitude that Carlisle has tried no matter what it cost him, and conversely feels guilt at having allowed things to progress so far, in not truly seeing just how much of a struggle it had been for him to do what regular people take for granted. He knows how far Carlisle has come since they met, but today's setback has been hard, Carlisle's panic attack a shock to them both, and Edward realises more than ever that he wants to get him back to Maine and never let him return to this place that scares him so.

That night they bare their souls to each other, all painful truths broken open in the hope that healing can finally begin.

~o.O.o~


	10. Chapter 10

**Massive thanks to my beta and friend mxpi1970, and my great friend loopylou992 for their support and guidance. To all my readers and reviewers, I say thank you and apologies for the delay. This chapter was a challenge; if I've done my job well I hope it helps you understand why Carlisle is so damaged. **

**More to follow when I can.**

**I own nothing. Stephenie Meyer owns all.**

* * *

><p><strong>All I Want to Hear<strong>

**Chapter 10**

Carlisle's face is pale, twisted with remorse.

"I'm so sorry, Edward. Please, please believe me. I never meant you to feel abandoned. I didn't mean to leave you alone." His words are rushed, desperate to take what he perceives to be his one last chance to make amends. "Forgive me… please?"

He finds peace in Edward's company and in his arms. The very real thought of losing him, the only person that has shown him the beauty of the world outside the walls of his prison, is paralysing. He wonders if he is destined to stay cold and detached, not a part of the world. He wants to be able to trust, to be able to drop his guard for good and not just after sex. This need for self-preservation is strong, but to be with Edward he knows he needs to let him in, to confide and trust in him. He needs to learn how to deal with his traumatic past and to leave it behind him - cast off the shackles and move forward into his and Edward's future, for surely they are meant to be.

Edward stands silent, taking a moment to find the right words. His lover's face is anguished, fearful, teetering on the brink of lost hope. Edward knows the emotional self-flagellation that is taking place in Carlisle's psyche; he understands his pain, but is understanding it enough? Can it ever be?

"You left me. Alone. In a strange city." His voice is modulated, the words carrying a sting nonetheless. Carlisle flinches beneath their perceived weight. "What's going on, Carlisle? Deep down, what's really going on because I think I deserve to know." He fists a handful of his hair, his eyes pinched shut for a moment before he walks, his gait stiff, to the sofa. He is unable to settle and begins to pace the small space.

Carlisle feels the emotional devastation emanating from him in powerful waves and knows in that moment that their relationship is hanging by a fragile strand of silken hope. If that thread were to be severed, he fears he would never find his feet again. His shaky indrawn breath whistles through his chest; the words, when they come, are broken.

"What do you want to know?"

Edward looks up, meeting his gaze, seeing the raw vulnerability behind those blue eyes that have stolen his heart.

"Do you want to be with me, Carlisle?"

His answer is ragged and choked with emotion.

"Yes – more than I've ever wanted anything else in my life."

"Do you love me enough to share both your past and your future with me?"

Edward sees the reaction, knows his words have cut deep, and hopes that emotional bloodletting will help heal Carlisle's deep-seated pain. Unable to answer the question, Carlisle nods, his hands clenching and shaking. Edward reaches for him, but he pulls away.

"No – you don't know… you won't look at me the same way again." He refuses to make eye contact, his guilt engulfing him.

"Did you … did you _hurt _someone?" Edward can't comprehend this gentle man ever committing such an act, but the question stands as a starting point. He jumps, not expecting the shrill, hysterical laugh that fills the room, the sound both alien and unnerving before it cuts off a second later.

"No, no, I really didn't."

"Then it can't be so bad that we can't get past it. Nothing can stand between us except secrets, and I've had enough. Tell me – tell me everything. Purge it all, I can take it." He is aware that he is begging, anger abating now he is facing the truth at last. "Then watch me stand by your side, because that's where I want to be if you'll have me."

The air around them is thick, nebulous; Carlisle struggles not to choke. Edward is shaky, but determined; the past has to be exposed and the time is now.

~o.O.o~

Carlisle perches on the arm of the nearest chair. He tries to ignore the audience in the room, talking to himself at the start.

"I grew up in California; my parents own a vineyard. I was a loner, and spent most of my time writing one thing or another. As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to write. When I was very young, I wrote silly little poems about my surroundings, my family and my life. As I grew, I started to write stories and to enjoy history. My parents encouraged me the whole time, although it was understood that this was a hobby and I would take my place in the business one day."

His thoughts are far away, lost in the mists of time and memory, back when he was happy.

"It didn't go down well when I announced in my senior year that I wanted to study creative writing and journalism at college."

Edward stays silent, watching Carlisle's face change when he recalls what appears to be a painful memory.

"My parents sat me down and gave it to me straight: I was to join the company and learn the wine business to one day take over the family empire. I'd always known this, but I guess I thought they'd support my dream, my ambition to be a writer and to be heard out in the world. I had never envisioned myself as a salesman, securing deals with distributors and suppliers. It wasn't me." He falls silent for a moment, gathering himself to carry on. "I kept calm, tried to explain my desire for my chosen path, but my father went crazy, shouting and gesticulating as only an Italian really can."

"Italian?" Despite himself, Edward interrupts.

Carlisle nods, but does not elaborate.

"My mother was more reasonable. I like to think that she recognised early on that I would be different to the rest of my family, that I would have different dreams. She dealt with my father while he raged, calming him down just enough to listen to her. I can't say I know what happened exactly, but after a few hours she came to my room and said that I could attend college. The deal was that if my grades were good I could continue, but if I could not garner acceptable passes I was to return home and continue with my training in the wine business. I accepted, thanking her over and over, promising I would make her the proudest Mama in the world." He is clearly overcome, his face twisted in self-hatred. "How could I have known then…?"

Carlisle craves the comfort of Edward's loving embrace, but maintains the space between them, unwilling to allow him close.

"College was hard, but I loved it. I had no friends as such – my time was spent in the library studying for the highest grades I could. I lived on campus and rarely went out other than to class. I didn't go to the bars with my classmates and I didn't date. The others thought me cold, and despite being lonely, I found it impossible to let them in. We were nothing alike – there was no common ground to be found with them, and so I kept to myself."

He stands and walks to the window, looking out over the park below. Edward watches him.

"You told me that your first kiss was in college. I'm guessing then that you met someone later on."

"Yes. At first it was nothing more than a few words after class – an appreciation for something I had written or an opinion I had shared. Innocent enough, especially for a young, quiet student who was unused to anyone praising him, encouraging him. I held those compliments to me as I would a coat in winter – they warmed me. I felt for the first time that I really could succeed – that I could become a serious journalist. His support became vital to me, as necessary as the food I ate, the water I drank."

"That's good, isn't it? That you finally met someone who cared about you? Who_… wanted_ you?" Edward finds the words hard to say – irrational jealousy flaring in his chest for the boy who had first introduced his Carlisle to the joys of love. The air between them grows brittle with mutual anxiety.

"I thought so. I believed that he cared for me. Perhaps he did, or perhaps I was just one in a long line. He knew just what to say to seduce me and he waited until I was primed. I was so trusting, I would have believed anything he said to me."

Edward sees the scenario spool before his eyes: a passionate affair - a young, quiet student, flowering into his first sexual awakening with another man; sweet talked and coerced, awkward and inept, but with growing feelings that are all so new and unexplored. Forcing his gaze back to his lover, he focuses.

"What happened?"

"It was late and I was heading back to the dorm. He offered me a ride – it was quite a walk and the wind was biting." Carlisle is powerless to stop the memories unravelling now. "I remember thinking that I wanted him to kiss me. I had no idea if he planned to or not, but I wanted him to. When we stopped, he killed the engine and turned in his seat to face me. I sat there struck dumb, wanting him so much that I thought he must've been able to tell. My breathing was uneven and I remember his smile then. He stroked my hair, and I think I moaned. That was all it took; then his lips were on mine and I finally understood why the other students spent more time in each other's rooms at night than they ever did studying. I know I was hard from that first touch, and he knew it too. When he drew away from me I was panting for more. He said goodnight and his hand left my hair to glance across my groin, an almost innocent brush that confirmed my arousal. From then on I was his and his alone."

Edward's eyes are closed, anger rising. He knows this cannot have ended well. Carlisle is struggling to continue, the need to finish this sordid tale absolute. Standing by the window, he cannot bring himself to look at his lover's face.

"We began to meet up and go driving on a regular basis. It's such a cliché that we went parking, but we did. We found quiet spots where we wouldn't be disturbed and I let myself be seduced."

Shoulders cowed, he finally turns to Edward, eyes downcast. "Do you want to hear all of this or should I skip forward?"

"Just tell me so that this can be over."

"Very well. The first time he touched me I lost all control. I remember both the ecstasy and the mortification hitting me all at once. I felt I had let him down, but he seemed oddly pleased. My innocence pleased him. He unfastened his own pants and showed himself to me, hard and ready, knowing of course that I would be aroused again almost immediately, and he was right. He taught me how to pleasure another man and he showed me how good sex could be. What did I know? I thought he loved me."

His mouth is dry and with weary steps he fetches a glass of water from the kitchen. Edward waits, hoping it is almost over, yet fearing the worst is still to come. Carlisle downs half the water in two strong gulps before placing the glass down on the counter. He wipes his mouth with a shaking hand.

"One night, we were in the car wearing nothing more than our shirts, kissing and stroking each other when the flash happened. I was too shocked to realise what it was and for a moment I believed it to be from a torch. When it happened again we both saw it was the flash from a camera trained at the car, at us, capturing our exposed bodies. We panicked, trying to cover ourselves, but it was too late. The car was a giveaway, even if we had hidden our faces. He was mortified and swearing, whereas I was cold and fearful of what this could mean for us.

"The reality of it all didn't take long to surface. Photographic evidence was presented to the Department of Education showing both of us in a state of undress and kissing, our bodies clearly in a high state of arousal."

Carlisle is shaking now, his arms wrapped around himself, reliving the memories he has tried so hard to bury.

"I had no idea he had a wife, a family. He never spoke of them, he wore no ring. Without warning, he quit his teaching job, leaving me confused and alone. The Dean informed me that his wife had suspected an affair, had arranged to have him followed to find out who he was seeing. She was waiting for me that afternoon when I tried to leave campus. She showed me the photographs of our tryst and coldly informed me that I was nothing more than a fling, a pathetic mid-life crisis that ended now. She blamed me for the affair; my seduction of a married man a deliberate act to lure him from his family and the marital bed. To my chagrin, I blurted out that he loved me and that I loved him. I remember her bitter laughter at that; she called me naïve, which I was. He had played me when I had believed his affections were genuine, that I was special and that he _cared _for me. I was devastated. Now I look back and wonder how I could ever have believed that a man so many years my senior would want to be with a teenager."

"Because he could." Edward's voice is steady, belying his hatred for the man who has caused so much pain. "Because it bolstered his ego to seduce a young student and to be desired in return. Don't blame yourself for naiveté, Carlisle. You were young and inexperienced with relationships. Someone took your trust and exploited it – there is no way that was your fault. You know that – right?"

"It gets worse." The words fall like stones into a well. When they hit the water it is with deep resonance.

"A professor suddenly quitting, mid semester, tends to be noticed by the student body. I'll never know how, but it got out and the whole sordid affair was leaked to the local news. I couldn't cope with the whispering and the stares in the halls, being so publicly outed. They openly speculated reasons for the affair, of how and why; the obvious answer was for grades. He was known to be harsh with his marks – they all believed I did it to pass the semester. They weren't shy with their judgements – they called me disgusting and desperate, willing to sell myself to pass his class. Of course, they then turned their attention to my other professors to see if I was whoring myself to the entire faculty."

Carlisle's eyes are bleak. It is painfully apparent that he has not moved past this incident, that he finds himself unable to face the world again for fear of being recognised. It is all so clear now – the inability to touch Edward in public, his terror of showing affection is a deep seated fear of being ridiculed and judged. Despite the likelihood of this ever happening again being so very low, Carlisle has an insurmountable fear in his mind and needs to push himself, to break down the walls he himself has built.

The humiliation turned a shy, introverted young man into a recluse, terrified of the outside world, convinced as he was that everyone he met would know about the disgrace of his having an affair with a married man, his own professor. It was inevitable that he blamed himself, of course, his fragile self-esteem in tatters, beyond repair.

"My parents… they were so ashamed of me. Their friends asked questions – questions my parents couldn't or wouldn't answer. They contacted me one last time to tell me I was cut off. They wouldn't return my calls, my letters came back unopened. I needed them, I wanted to explain, but my family are proud and I had brought nothing but shame and dishonour. My grandparents still live in Italy, and I pray they have no idea of what I have done to the family. My father disowned me, he spoke for both of them. I have no idea what my mother wanted. He didn't leave me to starve – he released my trust fund early and deposited the money in my account. Mama may well have agreed with his decision, but I'll never know now. As they ended all contact, I did the only thing I could do – I changed my name legally to bury the scandal and to release them from the burden. I transferred schools to New York and used my trust fund to pay for the rest of my education."

"So Cullen isn't your real name?"

"Yes – now it is, legally. People assume it's a penname and I don't correct them. My former name was Benefici."

"Oh." Realisation comes as a hard blow to Edward. _Benefici. _The name is synonymous with quality and culture. Edward recognises the name from the wine list at the Dragonfly – it is what most patrons would call a 'considered purchase' for a special occasion. _No wonder he can afford to live here. His trust fund must have been substantial to sustain this lifestyle._

"You've heard of it of course. Everyone has."

Edward chooses his words carefully.

"Yes, I'm familiar with the brand. But I've not heard of what happened. And back in Maine you can be whoever you want to be – this incident can't continue to shape your entire existence." He crouches before Carlisle and takes his hands, begging him to understand. "I need you to forgive that young man who believed the best in someone. He didn't do anything wrong. The best medicine is to put it behind you. It was a youthful error in judgement that hurt you so terribly at the time, but which time has cleansed and all but erased from the collective memory. I can't imagine the pain you've been through, of losing the love of your family, but I need you to look forward now, build a future… hopefully with me. I'm here for you. Let me help. I _love_ you."

Edward will do whatever it takes to protect Carlisle in his new life if he chooses to move forward and leave the pain in the past where it belongs. Once he comes to terms with both the lack of gossip and the acceptance of their relationship, he can begin to heal and be able to accept the love offered to him without malicious intent or ulterior motive. In time he can finally know true love and feel worthy of it.

Unburdened at last, mixed tears of embarrassment and relief trickle down Carlisle's face when he sees Edward's sincerity, understands that he will not run, will never leave him broken hearted and alone. He slumps down onto the sofa.

"This place... I ran here to hide, to blend in and become a shadow. It felt like the right thing to do. I could disappear for good, change my name, and forget my past – move on. But it didn't happen."

"It ate away at you like a cancer, a little more each day, and so, instead of healing, you withdrew from everything until you couldn't face the world anymore."

He nods in silence. Edward wipes away the tears with his thumbs in a nurturing gesture.

"And you miss your family."

"Yes." The whispered confession breaks Edward's heart. He folds him in his arms and rocks him, kissing his hair and feeling the hot tears of long-repressed pain spill out unchecked at last, safe in Edward's arms.

Edward understands now. Carlisle had no friends, no one to help him heal; as a result he didn't date again, making little contact with the outside world after graduation. His only presence in the world was through the written word, finding his niche as a successful writer in his field.

Until he came to the Dragonfly Inn that fateful day.

And so it has come to this.

Two nights in NY.

It started out as an adventure, but now everything has changed.


	11. Chapter 11

**All I Want to Hear**

Ok, I know I know - I've been AWOL for too long. I will continue to keep plugging away when I can because these boys have a few things to sort out before this story wraps. I hope to update again soon.

Beta'd by mxpi1970.

As always, I own nothing. Stephenie Meyer owns all.

Meanwhile, back in the New York...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

Edward holds Carlisle in his warm, safe embrace, his head waging war on the people responsible for his pain despite knowing that there is nothing he can do about the past. It's over – done. It is time to move forward, to build a new, strong future without fear, without looking back.

When Carlisle is cried out, he lifts his head a fraction, enough to meet Edward's concerned gaze. His own eyes hold a hesitancy in their depths that can only be dispelled with the reassurance of love and trust. Their lips meet in a fleeting kiss, followed by another until Edward hears the rough, indrawn breath signalling understanding. All is forgiven between them in that moment, all can be healed and mended with time and love.

An unspoken affirmation passes between them to never allow another to hurt or part them. From now on they will travel the wild seas of life as a team, anchored together against the storms and currents.

~o.O.o~

"Home tomorrow." Edward's words are a statement, not up for discussion.

Carlisle nods. Edward surveys the apartment.

"How much of this is yours? Furniture, I mean?"

Carlisle shakes his head, a quizzical look furrowing his brow.

"None. Well, the painting over my bed is mine, and then it's just my clothes and books." He exhales hard. "The place came fully furnished. I paid extra so I could just move in. Why do you ask?"

"So a few boxes should do it, plus a mover's truck." Edward speaks his thoughts aloud, planning on wasting no time. "Can you get out of your lease? At short notice, I mean?"

His face is questioning, eyebrows raised and awaiting an answer.

"I can speak to my landlord? If you want me to?"

"Tomorrow?"

Bewilderment evident, Carlisle nods.

"Okay then."

"Then you're coming home with me – for good."

He watches, a little anxious, hoping that his assumption, so clear and obvious to himself, will be what his lover is willing and able to do.

Carlisle's face lights up, his smile one of surprised, unrestrained joy.

"You and me – living together? At your place?"

"Of course at my place. I'm not leaving you here. Time to move forward. You and me."

Carlisle is overjoyed at this demonstration of their commitment to each other. He feels the veil of confusion that fogs his brain shimmer, the sun coming out to dispel the grey mist that has plagued him for so long. He knows it cannot happen tonight, but he realises now that it will dissipate, that the healing has begun with Edward's heartfelt acceptance of his shameful past.

Edward takes his hands in his own.

"Shall we grab a bite to eat? That slice of pizza seems an age ago."

They both smile, the energy in the room flowing and free.

"Can we order in? Is that okay?"

Edward strokes his tear-stained face, the gesture tender and loving.

"Definitely. It's been quite a day. Italian? That food was amazing."

"It always is! I will miss Casa Nonna. How about that – I will miss one thing about the Big Apple."

Edward's smile is slow and seductive.

"We can always come and visit. Anniversaries are always a good excuse. Plus we can stay in a hotel and be waited on. It'd make an interesting change for me."

Carlisle feels lighter than air, lost in his partner's sea-green eyes, riding the wave of love that engulfs and claims him.

"I like the sound of that."

~o.O.o~

The next morning dawns bright, the air fresh with possibilities. Carlisle wakes first, opening his eyes and simultaneously remembering that his life has changed. The light plays across the room, the sun's rays dappling the pale wall with dancing patterns. Edward's breathing is deep and even, his face smooth and peaceful. Carlisle gazes down at him with wonder, his heart glowing. There is much to do today before they return, and he should be rising, yet the need to take in every delicate feature from eyelashes to the cheekbones that slant across his face is too important. He swims in the beauty before him, feeling thankful and blessed.

"You're staring."

The voice, deep and rough with sleep, makes him jump.

"I didn't know you were awake. Sorry."

Edward stretches, the movement luxuriant and feline. "Why are you sorry? You can look - you can _more_ than look. After all, I'm in your bed, all yours to do with as you please."

A shiver caresses Carlisle's skin at the blatant offer. Leaning in, he presses his eager lips to Edward's with a helpless groan.

~o.O.o~

Carlisle walks around his small apartment, home for so long, yet lacking any real emotional attachment. He hears movement in the bathroom, water splashing in the basin with regularity, the rhythmic tap of the razor against the basin after each sweep across his jaw. In a moment of revelation he understands why Edward doesn't fit in here, why he struggled to make the two images mesh: this place, this _life, _is emotionless and static. Loving Edward is the glowing EXIT sign to this life – the wondrous open road to a new fulfilling future. His apartment now feels stale and claustrophobic. He has locked himself within these walls for safety and they have trapped him, the restraints tightening day by day until someone threw open the doors to his prison and let life, - beautiful, technicolour life - flood back in.

He can't wait to leave here and not look back.

NY is not home; he feels the strong pull to return to Maine, to the calm, peaceful town that promises a future.

His first virgin steps towards a future with Edward.

The morning passes in a blur of phone calls and arrangements. The last one is to his agent to advise him of his new address and to suggest that non-essential meetings be conducted via Skype, with Carlisle only making the trip to New York if needed. To his surprise, his agent agrees to this mutually convenient arrangement. Edward smiles while he packs.

By mid-afternoon, all of Carlisle's belongings are in brown boxes, his clothes packed into his carry-on luggage. It is no surprise that he has few clothes; the few items he possesses are good quality and well looked after, but take up little space in the closet. The only remaining item is the painting above his bed. At the last minute he decides to leave it there. After all, it matches the décor and looks good, but he has no need of it in Maine. It would be completely out of place, a piece of his past.

Edward calls the airline, checking for a later flight to give them enough time to cross NYC and get checked in. They are lucky – there are seats available. Everything is falling into place. Looking out of the apartment window one last time, Carlisle feels as if he may float away if he doesn't concentrate on staying grounded, the blue sky beckoning him onward. He is a kite with the wind in its tail, ready to soar heavenward.

The landlord is stunned when Carlisle hands back his keys and promises the return of his security deposit once the apartment has been inspected. He hardly recognises the man standing before him – animated, exuding energy and vitality – so unlike the quiet young man who moved in five years ago. He asks no questions, merely completes the formalities and wishes him luck for the future. He wonders if he will ever again find such a problem-free tenant.

They sit in the cab, the drive interminably long. Edward's fingers creep across the seat and lace with Carlisle's, a secret display of support. He receives in return a heart-stopping smile, his fingers squeezed in grateful acknowledgement.

_Progress._

They watch the city flash past the windows, each ready to leave and both saying a silent farewell to the city that never sleeps.

~o.O.o~

The flight feels longer, the urgency to be back in Maine again making them feel like children eager to see the ocean for the first time. It is early evening when they land in Portland, the air holding a chill. After a short wait at the quiet luggage carousel, Carlisle hefts his bags, his clothes a symbol of his new life, the new road ahead. He entrusts Edward with his laptop case and together they walk toward the exit, their faces lit from within; to the outside world they could be mistaken for honeymooners. The taxi driver helps with their bags, loading the trunk while they slide into the warmth of the back seat. The soft crooning of Elvis spills from the small door-mounted speakers. The driver takes the address and pulls away from the kerbside, smiling into the rear view mirror.

"Good holiday?"

Edward looks at Carlisle, his lips curving upward without his control.

"Glad to be back home," he tells the driver, knowing in that moment he has never said a truer word. He feels a hand on his own in reciprocation.

The drive is short, the evening traffic light. In minutes they are standing on Edward's stoop while he rummages for keys. The door open, they lug the bags inside, dropping them in a heap beside the stairs. After always travelling with a small overnight bag, to see the pile of stuffed bags in an untidy heap makes Carlisle acutely aware of the enormity of this decision. Looking around, he sees the warmth, the comfort of his surroundings, with fresh eyes.

_I'm home._

NY seems like a bad dream, the austerity of his life there mocking him, chiding him for taking so long to realise how trapped he has been, how lost until Edward entered his life.

"Welcome home." His love smiles and blushes, suddenly shy, his eyes full of happiness, yet downcast in a demure stance, embarrassed.

_Why?_

"I'm so happy you're here - properly." His voice is husky, and it is apparent now that Edward is nervous. This is a big deal for him too.

Carlisle is overwhelmed; the lump in his throat makes speech a struggle.

"I'm really here." He marvels anew at the concept, unable to stop his smile blossoming. "I'm home."

Gazing at each other with tender, adoring eyes, the two of them are struck by the notion that they will never have to feel alone again. It feels like the first time when they find each other, hands reaching and stroking, a thumb rasping across a cheek roughened by five o'clock shadow. Breathing deepens when fingers trail down necks, lips part, cheeks flush, both holding back until the moment is near pain. With moans of surrender, their lips meet and all thoughts disconnect, lost in a maelstrom of emotion. Each sharp breath illustrates their desire, a signpost on the journey to the next pained gasp. Pulling apart for a second, Edward takes his lover's hand in a wordless gesture and leads him up the staircase to the room that is now theirs.

Edward's hands, sure and true, unfasten his shirt buttons, his gaze never leaving Carlisle's. The purr of his zipper, the clink of his belt, are sounds both lewd yet honest in this private space. His pants now open, he pushes them down with his underwear and steps free of them, two high spots of pink in his cheeks betraying his shy modesty. He hears his lover's heightened breaths and knows that he will soon be rewarded for his brazenness. Feeling a hand graze his hip, he quivers, his erection hardening further at the fleeting touch.

Seeing Edward reveal himself fuels the craving residing deep inside Carlisle. He allows his eyes to feast, fingers reaching out to touch the pale beauty of that lean body, skating along the hipline. He is torn between watching his own fingers caress this body he adores and wanting to sink into the pools of green that silently plead for more. In a dream, he unfastens his own clothing, loosening and releasing buttons and buckles, his skin burning for the touch of another, for Edward. In moments he stands naked, feeling a momentary lapse in confidence and understanding Edward's nervousness. What they are about to do feels like a commitment, the threshold to a new future – a big step on both their parts. In reality, one small step brings them together in a tight embrace, their hands caressing and grasping, lips and tongues silently declaring their love whilst pressed together, moving together, their breath noisy and hot, drowning in need.

Falling backward, Edward scoots himself onto the mattress, pulling Carlisle down until he is hovering above him, knees and elbows planted, reddened lips just within reach. Straining upward, he claims them, these lips that feel like home, forcing Carlisle down until he can feel his weight on him and the rightness of it. Each breath is dragged from the other and returned, a never-ending cycle of giving and receiving in perfect symmetry. Edward's fingers grasp the wonderful hardness that promises such pleasure, his thumb caressing the proud head already wet with fluid. The gasp in response tells him what he needs to know. He reaches for the drawer, fumbling inside for the condoms and lube. Carlisle sits back and Edward raises his legs, offering himself to his lover. With careful fingers, Carlisle opens and readies him, loving the uninhibited joy he takes in being pleasured, his mewls of frustrated ecstasy. When the moment comes to enter him, he pauses just long enough for Edward to meet his gaze before pushing inside, their mutual euphoria reflected in each other's darkened eyes.

~o.O.o~

They sleep, exhausted and replete, until dawn's early light paints the sky rose-pink. Edward wakes, lifting his head from the pillow to see Carlisle sleeping beside him. With a relieved smile, he watches him sleep, remembering the previous day's sadness and joy.

_I will keep you safe. Those storm clouds that have haunted you for so long will fade to clear, bright skies, I promise._

He looks at the clock, remembering that he has to work tonight, and creeps out of bed to make coffee. No time to lie around, not if he wants to sleep again later. At the bottom of the stairs he pauses, smiling again at the haphazard pile of bags that clutter the floor. He helped pack them so he knows what they contain. After coffee he will set to making room in his closet. He makes a pot of the good stuff – today is certainly not the day for mediocre – and scrutinises the book shelves. They were going to be a problem: both men love their books and Edward has no plans to get rid of his collection. He decides on a different tack and measures the free space on the wall; new shelving is definitely the way forward.

With a grin, he pours the coffee and heads upstairs, veering around the bag mountain with the practiced efficiency of a true professional. His love is stirring, seemingly knowing that there is coffee in the offing. Edward places the cup down and sips from his own, watching Carlisle's sleepy smile spread when he sees him.

"You're too far away." His almost petulant pout makes Edward grin all the more.

"I have to work later, so no, I won't be climbing back in there with you. Things to do today. I want to go see Kate and take her her present. Plus, you know, tell her about us."

Carlisle swallows his mouthful of coffee and considers this.

"What do you think she'll say? I don't think she liked me a great deal."

He sounds sad. For the first time in a long time wanting to be heard, wanting to be _liked_, is important to be him. Edward sits down then, taking in the weight of his words.

"I'll tell her what you're happy with me telling her, no more. I think she'll be impressed with your decision to move here. She worried…" he pauses before continuing, "she worried you wouldn't commit to me, that you'd ultimately hurt me by hiding yourself from me." His gaze is steady, needing Carlisle to see the truth in his words. "She loves me too."

"I know she does. I got warned pretty hard to walk away if I couldn't promise not to hurt you." He smiles a little at the memory. "I hope she starts to accept me. Do you think she will?"

"Let me deal with Kate." Edward drains his cup. "You need to get up, get dressed and come with me. We're going for breakfast."

The café is quiet at the early hour. They find a table and wait for Kate to appear from the kitchen. She spots them and walks over, pulling a pencil and pad from her pocket.

"Morning, boys, what'll it be?"

Edward grins – even Carlisle proffers her a small smile.

"Usual for me, and a coffee." He looks to Carlisle and cocks his head.

Carlisle clears his throat and orders pancakes with bacon, and coffee.

"And can I have the rocket fuel rather than the placebo this time?"

Kate's smile almost touches her ears at his brazen assumption, loving the change already evident in his demeanour.

"Done. Coming up, boys."

Despite Edward's fast head duck, she still manages to ruffle his hair, walking away chuckling.

Edward raises an eyebrow. "'_The rocket fuel_?' What was that all about?"

With a straight face, Carlisle tries to explain. "She gave me _decaf_ last time. I can't have the same thing happening again today. I have work to do. Plus I feel I need to make my point or she'll keep doing it."

"Not after that, she won't! She was impressed – I can tell. She'll be ruffling your hair before you know it."

Carlisle pats his blond hair, feigning terror, and Edward laughs so hard his eyes are still sparkling when their breakfast arrives. Edward invites Kate to take a seat and she does so, looking from one to the other, waiting for one of them to speak. Of course it is Edward who does, swallowing a mouthful of pancake, watching Carlisle for signs of discomfort.

"So – we have news." He can see Kate's expression, her eagerness to know, but staying silent. "Carlisle and I spent the last couple of days in New York while he met with his publisher." Every part of him aches to take his lover's hand, but he resists. "The upshot is…" Kate's expectant face is comical, "…Carlisle has moved to Maine. As of today we are living together."

Carlisle has stopped eating, his eyes fixed on Edward while he delivers this momentous news. He can hardly breathe, fearing disapproval from Kate and the subsequent sadness it would cause Edward if she has concerns about this development. At that moment all he sees is his lover's flushed and happy face, shining with love and excitement. He turns to Kate, ready to defend their choice, to stand his ground at last, and instead receives an encouraging nod and a warm smile in return.

"Maine got you good, huh?"

Carlisle's fingers reach across the small table and come to rest on Edward's knuckles for a brief moment before retreating. A huge leap forward and so very telling. Feeling overwhelmed, he clears his throat, but is unable to utter more than a whisper.

"Not just Maine."

The heat between them is palpable and undeniable. Kate feels tears prick her eyes and blinks them away before they can be seen. Her doubts are dissipating, the truth of their love hard to deny. The moment is broken when Edward fumbles in his pocket.

"I got you something from New York." He places a small package in front of her with a grin. She opens the wrapping to find a snow globe with the Empire State Building inside. "We went up there and the view is spectacular. It's… uhm… very romantic."

A blush heats his cheeks. He chooses not to mention the incident that had followed it – they have dealt with the whys, and the pain it brought up. Edward has no desire to betray Carlisle's love and trust by retelling his private life story. He has the memory of the Empire State and the momentous decision to move Carlisle to Maine to make a future together. From now on, he wants them to focus on the positives. Let life deal the cards where they may – they have a foundation to build, a strong bedrock to last a lifetime together. His finger caresses Carlisle's hand for a second before withdrawing. He is rewarded with a smile of gratitude before they both resume eating their breakfasts, and Kate has to resist the urge to kiss them both.

~o.O.o~


End file.
